Moving. Sucks.

I recognize that I'm stating the obvious here, but holy shit, moving sucks. A lot. My apartment looks like a tornado blew threw it on the best of days. But somehow it's worse now. I have a lot of my crap in boxes and still it looks like some kind of boot camp exercise.

No one has ever accused me of being graceful and an apartment that's basically booby trapped is no place for someone like me. I've already slammed my knee into something hard enough to bruise it. I've tripped over more shit than I count. When I was trying to get something off the wall, I just about broke a toe.

I have tons of boxes already packed. I'm trying to be careful about how much I pack into each one since I have to be able to pick them up and lug them down three flights of stairs to my car. (BTW - the next time I tell you I'm moving into an apartment building that doesn't have an elevator, stab me.) What's awesome (and by that, I mean NOT awesome at all) is that my back has started to bother me. I unearthed my back braces and do believe I'll be sporting one, if not both, of them until I'm done with the packing and moving.

My car is a whole other thing. It's filled. With crap. I don't even know what's in there anymore. There's a giant pink blanket covering the back seat with stuff peeking out from underneath. It looks like I live in there. And I know I have to get it all emptied out so I can get boxes shipped out and then pack it up for the trip, but the thought of doing it makes me want to cry.

I want to skip all of the crappy parts about moving and just be on the road. Where's the fucking moving fairy when you need her?