|"Fishing, film, flamenco. There's nothing in here about faking your own death."|
Times this week I said, "I think I'm dying." = 505
Times Husband actually believed me = 1 (And even then I only got a pat on the back and a, "Do you know where my shoes are?)
So, now that I'm back to my normal self, the massive task of getting the Split level ready for sale is staring back at me, simply begging for mundane tasks to be completed and all our worldly possessions thrown in the dumpster so we don't have to actually move them. As I've stated previously, all of our stuff has been broken by the children, but it doesn't change the fact there's a lot of it.
(I'm cringing at the thought of lugging two tubs comprised of fifty-percent mismatched building blocks, thirty-percent Gladware lids, and twenty-percent partially stuffed stuffed animals anywhere.)
One thing I've noticed about trying to get ready to move are the miniscule yet strange tasks I've come face to face with that need attention. For instance, I have a stack of library books I borrowed from my college library back in 2005.
Maybe I wanted to write that paper on Russian imperialism again after I had kids. Or maybe they got buried under an old, tie-dyed wall hanging of The Beatles. It's really not important. What is important is what I'm going to say in the note I send along with these very, very boring tomes. I've included a first draft of the Post-It going in the box because you guys are my only friends and I trust your opinion completely.
Kidding, I trust your opinion 99%.
Bet you thought I was going to say I have other friends. Nope, it's just something you're going to have to deal with.
January 1, 2014
Dear College Library,
This is Paige Kellerman, and I'm a former student of yours. Well, not of the library, but of the school proper. I'm sure people come into the library all the time, but it doesn't mean they actually go to the school. I'd imagine some people simply enjoy libraries on school campuses.
At any rate, I found these books stored in a Rubbermaid tub, carefully swathed in newspaper, bubble wrap and the gentle, considerate handling of a twenty-one-year-old. If any of the pages are ripped, it's because they're well loved, and not because the box fell down the stairs.
I do apologize these books haven't been available to students working on midterms about Russia. I'm sure the history professor enjoyed scratching that off the syllabus. Then again, the internet has grown by leaps and bounds over the last ten years, so maybe you can hollow these out and make books that look like books but are actually spare key holders for the janitor's closet.
(If you have your doubts, the hollowed-out book was voted "The Craft Everyone Needs" of 2007 by People Who Craft Occasionally Magazine.)
Oh, and if there are any fines, please add them to my student loans. You should get your money somewhere around 2052, when I die and my estate is settled.
P.S. If you're wondering where the biography of Dostoyevsky is, the kids ate it. That's right, someone had kids with me.
Until Next Time, Readers!