and the tornado says moo

I keep dancing around this move in terms of what to actually call it. It's a move, yes. A move of location, state of mind, a move forward (hopefully) in life and all that other flowery crap.

I hate thinking about it as an adventure, a journey, a friggin' quest, because that's not me. Never has been, and even if I was shacked up with Indiana Jones at the time, it still wouldn't apply. [Then again, I might be too busy running away from Nazis, generally crazy people and um, doing other things -- to apply a term either.]

I nicknamed this whole shebang Operation: Spotted Owl because it's goofy, and it makes me laugh, and at the time I couldn't think of anything sufficiently Twin Peaks related that fit the bill. [Operation: Log Lady? Or I could've gone with a Twilight ref and been mocked by half the people I know.]

So, Operation: Spotted Owl is off to a start, for realz. I'm 95% moved out of my apartment.* I have to sort through a metric ton of shit -- clothes, necessary living stuff, Me Things that I do want to hang on to.

I've got a huge list on the Non-Domestic side too. Insurance, car stuff, storage, moving vans...maybe I really should just get a spotted owl to move the contents of my life. And for some reason, I start thinking Harry Potter thoughts there, so I'll stop with that line of thinking.

But I'm trying to institute a system -- not a reward system, because at the moment rewards have boiled down to beer and/or oatmeal creme pies -- but a system nonetheless.


I'll set a quota of boxes/whatever I have to get through in a day. Set aside an hour or so to read. Maybe go lay out in the sun so I can stop blinding people. Watch the huge catalog of old movies my sister left behind when she went to Seattle. Make bad jokes with my dad. Weep about the state of my bank account. Chop off one or two of those outstanding headaches like insurance, moving costs/means, putting hexes on my future institution of "higher" learning.

In the end though, it's like being in the center of a storm. I might look like I've got things in hand, a plan to follow, but all I can see are cows flying around in the air and Helen Hunt looking surprised.

Batshit crazy is your word of the day.