Moving, being moving, tends to suck the ever loving life out of me for a few weeks. I love a lot of things about the anticipation, the decor idea generating, the open house hunting, etc. The thing that nearly sours my milk though is the packing and unpacking. I have pictures and plans and posts - all in my head and on the camera memory card. Where would you be if you were my camera/computer cord? Where would you be if you were my moments of sanity where I'm not looking for kitty nail caps, my garlic press or my slippers? Such is the nomad's life if she doesn't want to go minimalist, but instead treasures all sorts of sentimentalism and other such nonsense. So it goes in looking for the camera cord, I find that really important piece of mail I nearly forgot about and dinner goes on without garlic. What once was lost . . .
But you don't come here to read about my moving melodramatics, eh? Of course, it's for this stinker of a white kitten who just adores my teal wellies as much as I do. He dives into them with abandon, nearly becoming suctioned into the rubber before battering the coffee table with exuberance not unlike a line backer on his first game out. All the while, I document him until he catches me and refuses to play on.