2002-06-25 - 9:34 p.m.

I've got to start packing. So I think about getting some boxes. Hmm, maybe I can get some of the oh, thousand or so boxes that we break down here every day. But of course, this would be entirely dependent on getting a cab home, which is almost a miracle around my office at 6 or 7pm. Maybe I could go to the boyfriends office, get his garage card, take the subway down and cross town, get his car, then drive back to the office, get the boxes (also need someone with me - unoccupied cars get ticketed by the ever viligant invisible gentleman in blue)drive them back down to my apartment, unload them, take car back to garage, walk back to my apartment, start packing.

Fuck that.

So I went home, and bought a few boxes and some big garbage bags, and staggered home with it, stopping every 10 feet to switch the heavy, flat folded boxes, bound by twine and a makeshift handle, to the other hand. Put in in my vestibule, locked the door, and went to get my dry cleaning. Came back, carried drycleaning up, propped the door open, and went back down for the boxes. Come in, check messages. Cook dinner. I cut the boxes loose and started taping one up, and then looked over at the measly stack of newspapers, consisting of the Sunday magazine and two back issues of the boyfriends WSJ. Definitely need more newspaper.

So I go out AGAIN, walk down the street to the newsstand, and go in and tell Taj that I'm going to take a couple of Voices, I'm moving... so we talked about where I was going, and he said he was glad I was staying in the neighborhood, and then he brought out a bundle of leftover newspapers from yesterday and gave them to me. So that was great. Not so great was the block walk home, staggering under the weight of the newspapers. Realized I forgot to get paper towels, can't carry the papers with me, so I go through the same routine. Vestibule, store, two trips up the stairs. But at least I had everything.

And this long manic story is not over, sorry to tell you. My cell phone rang, and it was P and he was right in the neighborhood, and stressed out about his time pressure to get moved himself, and I said, no, I'm packing..well, maybe I'll meet you downstairs for a quick cigarette. Which turned into a quick beer, and then a salad, and on my way home I spotted, leaning against the bookstore, a whole shitload of book boxes! Exactly what I need. So I took them and now I'm home, with all my boxes and my bags and my newspaper. And what am I doing? Drinking coffee and spewing my stress at this laptop screen.

I'm too tired to pack now. I'm never going to get out of here.

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