A preemptive strike on hotel rooms nationwide

Oh. God.

I am so tired. Wiped, worn-through, ragged. I can't remember when I last showered really well, slept more than 6 hours or woke without this weary feeling of "Oh. Now what needs doing?"

My hero of a Dad flew in last night and after a late-night ice cream date with friends (a blending of worlds that is always a bit surreal), woke this morning with a Can-Do attitude. And we proceeded to Do. So much. The storage container I rented that before seemed so cavernous is now almost full. Currently containing: My Life in 336 cubic feet.

I can't help but feel if I wasn't so damn responsible this wouldn't be so exhausting. There are separate piles in what used to be my bedroom for Freecycle, the Goodwill, and the Northampton Survival Center. Oh to chuck it all-- but I'm just not that kind of girl. My kingdom for a quieter conscience, a Buddha-like disdain for attachment to possessions and a medium to large dumpster!

But Dad and I, we persevered through Mountains of Things (take THAT, Buddha!) and have rewarded ourselves by renting an Air Conditioned room at the Quality Inn down the street from my house (and THAT!). We rationalized the choice with the free breakfast (so the microwave could get packed) and the hotel laundry room (laundry desperately needing to be done), but really it was for the air conditioning, the beds not-on-the-floor, and... well shoot, at this point, those are enough to make me plum content.

Tomorrow: the shipping container ships out, the dregs of the dregs begin their lifecycle again through the thrift store IN door, the game of What Important Item Will Kirsten Accidentally Pack Somewhere in the Shipping Container and Need in a Day or Two? begins the lightning round.