This is it; make no mistake

There are now two young cute guys in the lower level of my house packing boxes. They are both named Mike. These two look incredibly clean cut as though they aren't really movers, just a couple of university students earning some money for school. The last guys that moved us were in their forties, unshaven with long hair and raspy voices that sounded as though they spent every penny of their earnings on cigarettes.

Speaking of pennies, when I was trying to get organized yesterday, it came even more clearly into focus that Shawn has an infuriating habit of taking pennies out of his wallet and leaving them around the house in small piles. It isn't like he puts them in a penny jar which would be annoying enough; instead he leaves them in various locations all over the house. On every surface. On the kitchen counters, on the bathroom counters, on the plant stands, on the computer desks, on the bookshelf, on the coffee table, on the dresser, on the nightstand, and so on, and so on. By the time I was done collecting them all we had enough pennies for fair sized penny jar, and a penny jar is something I do not aspire to have. Pennies, and money in general, as we all know, are filthy. If I roll a thousand pennies and get my hands covered in that filth and bacteria, to me that is simply not worth ten dollars.

When I receive change I put it in my wallet, not anywhere around the house. And then, the next time I buy something, I try to use that change when possible so my wallet doesn't get heavier and heavier. When Shawn asked me what I did with my pennies and I told him this, he seemed startled as though he had no idea that pennies were money and could be spent. I have told him that if he brings any pennies into our new house I will kill him. Kill. Him.

Something that I do collect that I ought not to is old clothes. I don't know why I don't get rid of old clothes but I almost never do. I have far too many pairs of jeans with no knees left in them, and sweaters with the sleeves unraveling. As well, I simply have a lot of old clothes that are in good condition but I just don't wear them.

Last night I decided that before the movers arrived I would go through my clothes and get rid of the least reputable of the falling apart things, and donate the things that are in good shape but not being worn. At Shawn's request, this meant getting rid of a good number of things that are too big for me because I have this idiotic habit of buying my clothes too large. I dropped a very big bag full of saggy-butt jeans and oversize t-shirts in the donation bin near my house this morning before the movers arrived, and it was kind of nice to see them go. (Of course if I keep eating takeout food like I have been lately, I will regret this.)

In the evening when Shawn phoned to ask how I was doing, I grumped at him about his pennies and about the fact he wasn't here to help me with the sorting. He said I should relax and just let the movers take everything and then we could sort it together when we arrive in Vancouver. Somehow I couldn't let this happen, though, because the idea of moving boxes of junk and garbage and having to contend with them later was something I couldn't bear the thought of. So I sorted all night. I still think we're moving things we don't really want, like the bag of caramel strips for making caramel apples that Shawn bought in 2001 and is preparing to take on the Antique Roadshow. But it's better than it was before.

This part of the packing isn't so bad because the guys are downstairs and I'm upstairs and we're not in each other's way. Once they get up here and I have nowhere to go it seems like it will be more uncomfortable. Every so often one of the dogs emits a loud bark to alert me to the fact that there are strange men downstairs stealing our dishes.

*