New Lease. New Life.

Just signed the new lease on the next apartment. This will be apartment number............ 14, 329 over the 35-year course of my life.

I am not moving for another 3 years. Scratch that. They will have to bury me in this apartment. I am so sick of packing, and every day that goes by, I keep thinking about how much better it would be to throw all my crap in the middle of the living room, and pull out a can of gasoline and a match.

It doesn't matter how many times I've moved. It doesn't get any easier. You'd think I'd streamline, but I haven't.

If it's someone else's house, I'm able to walk in, unfurl my checklists, put on a headset, and start labeling boxes according to the gridlines of the floorplan that I threw together a week before on Visio. But when it's my own place, nothing gets done until the last minute, and I'm usually screaming and throwing everything I own into garbage bags, and leaving the stuff I can't fit out by the curb, and the soundtrack sounds like this. Four years ago when I moved down to Florida, I gave away half a house full of furniture, and my buddy Chris still had to let the air out of my bike tires to get the truck door closed.

I had to take the day off from work today and pack. "But I'm reading one of your posts, and I know you have a paper due", you may be thinking, while peering into the screen of your Blackberry.

Correct.

If, at any point of the day today, you hear from me, please:

• Pick up the phone, but blast an air horn into the receiver.
• Shut the door and scream "GO HOME!"
• Respond to my email with a large "UNSUBSCRIBE".

Do NOT open the door.

Thank you.