Ah. Post number sixty. The big six-oh.
You'll have to excuse me a bit. I went to bed a little early last night and woke up way early this morning. A little after midnight, to be exact. So I'm operating on very little sleep and feeling a little, well, what we would call "slap happy".
This year has been a tough one for our family. I've blogged quite a bit about my son, as well as my own struggles. But our whole family has struggled, like most families in our country, trying just to make ends meet in this horrific economy. Coupled with my husband's physical problems and my parents' health problems, my husband and I made a decision--rather suddenly--to move closer to my family.
So we have approximately twelve days to pack our tiny, nine hundred square foot house. We can do it, I have no doubt. But I'm overwhelmed just thinking about it. Our daughter is excited about the move--thrilled actually--and wanted to begin packing right away. She's referring to it as an 'adventure' and I'm so glad she's looking at it that way. Her brother's response has been more the opposite, although he's growing more used to the idea. Me? Apparently I'm not sleeping!!!
Truth is, I hate moving. I've hated it every single time I've done it, back to when I was seven years old, although that move wasn't quite as bad because I didn't have to lug all this junk everywhere. The worst part of that move is my favorite teddy bear--you know, you had one too...the one you slept with every night of your life?--got lost in the move. I never found him again. Devastation. Ironically, my other favorite teddy bear, which I had given to my son a few years ago, also disappeared. Maybe they're hanging out together in some bear club.
Here's another thing. I'm really missing Criminal Intent. No, not the old ones and definitely not that crap they're passing off as a TV show now. I'm missing my Goren and Eames, even with the crappy writers and storylines and whatnot. I miss seeing them every week. Like good friends you know you'll be getting together with every week. Eh. I've watched reruns quite a bit lately to destress. But there's something missing. Oh! It would be the element of SURPRISE!!!
Well, I'm going to go back to relaxing as I watch Billy the Exterminator. Billy is my solid proof that Andy Warhol was right: there is definitely fifteen minutes of fame out there for everyone. I've never watched this show before. It's amazing what you'll watch in the early morning on no sleep. Anything beats the news, though--even Billy.