Moving day is here, and the house looks like a cardboard factory blew up, punctuated with plastic tubs.
Still have the "random shit I didn't get put anywhere else" boxes to put together. But, I've quit sweating it. I stayed up till midnight last night throwing things at boxes, and if they missed, I threw them at another box.
I like being organized when I move, then I can find things... however, I lost two packing days this week. Thursday, I had a funeral to go to (I'm getting a little tired of that) and Farmmom decided she wanted to move me a day early. Since she's got the truck and trailer, I didn't have a whole lot of say...
Oh, and bonus points for the game of Most Awkward Move Ever (this actually surpasses me packing everything in two days and moving into my first apartment...) Farmmom tried to drive a rebar post through her foot yesterday.
The doc didn't see any obvious fractures, but was going to have the radiologist take a look. It's definitely bone bruised, though.
Oh, and because she doesn't want to lay anything across it (they didn't give her any painkillers... ouch!) I had to tell her last night to break out one of the horse buckets and start out with a little bit of cool water, and keep cooling it down as she adjusts.
You know, like how you boil a frog alive, except in reverse.
I offered to give her an epsom hoof-wrap, and she said she might consider it.... but I think I'd want to have Farmdad twitch her before I started wrapping anything around that foot... don't want to get kicked....
(Yes, she might just hurt me after reading this, but she does act like a sored-up horse sometimes when she hurts herself.... and Farmdad would have to twitch her because it's illegal to give Rompum to people....)