I HATE HATE HATE PACKING

I'm finally moving from my apartment (back into my parents' house until I find a job....fail) and am feverishly packing. I packed for a while during October and the last time I was in town, but left stuff because I didn't know when I would *officially* be moving out. I gave my notice a week or so ago. Then I started packing kinda for real.

Yesterday, my wonderful boyfran and I loaded up my house furniture that I wanted to keep, leaving my bedroom furniture alone (because that shit is new and if we fucked it up, I was going to cut someone). The things I didn't want, we put on the curb. The definition of hysterical? Watching a couple of frat guys claim your old pink particleboard desk. After our first trip, one of my dear friends came over to assist with the bedroom furniture. By seven o'clock p.m. we had moved all my furniture to my storage unit.

This is after actually cleaning up the living room. 

The rest of the house, however, is a joke. There are dustballs everywhere and I woke up this morning barely able to breathe. My dogs also made this trip with me after being MIA for several months (bf was starting to get pissed that he hadn't seen them). Crackers is sullen, having been pulled from outside where she can eat whenever the hell she feels like it and run around doing things that are generally looked down upon in my household. The second dog, Rosy, (who used to be an outside dog) came inside and told me she's never going back outside EVER. Except to pee.

So now I'm alone again, packing up the rest of my shit and wondering if I would actually miss anything if I just were to throw it all away.

I don't think I would.

I assure you this is a lot more shameful in person. 

No...really.