The anticipation is killing me

Given all the dust I'm kicking up, my breathing probably
adds to the puggy resemblance. Now what's the password, punk?

So it's T-minus one week until I skadoodle into the ATL and truly become a part of the Dirty South rather than just being dirty in the south. I'm handling the pressure quite nicely from inside my fort made of cardboard boxes. I've made cookies for a party and I have some leftover belgian beer, so I'll be just fine in here, thank you very much.

The interesting new angle on this move is that I'll be painting in my new place. It's another white-walled rental, but I'm allowed to paint. I've decided it's time to try this little hobby on for size. Unfortunately, this decision has transformed me from mildly capable repair person and infrequent Home Depot visitor into an HGTV-watching maniac who cannot sleep at night because she's pondering how to move furniture so that it "floats" and picking paint colors for her "accent walls." This is unusual behavior for me, and I'm mildly concerned. Oh yeah, and classes started back this week.

I'm going back to the fort. I find the smell of fresh cardboard so . . . soothing.