Boxes of Death

I hate packing. I really do. I didn’t think it would take that long to pack up my apartment since it is a tiny apartment. I was wrong. Dead wrong.

Box after box after box after box after box and I am still packing. Ugh. I have run out of boxes, and newspaper, and packing tape. If things get desperate I am going to have to go down the alley and steal some boxes from the homeless people. Where do they get those boxes anyway? Hummm. But, honestly I don’t know how I have acquired so much crap. I’m trying to throw stuff away as I pack, but it truthfully isn’t making much of a difference. Like a raindrop in the ocean. No point to it.

My family is coming Saturday to help me move. They are going to shit bricks when they see all the boxes. They keep asking me if I have a lot of stuff, I lie and say no. As soon as they come I’ll just run down to my car quick and listen to them scream from a safe distance out in the parking lot. The worst part is that I have a couple of boxes of magazines that Madonna is on the cover of and those boxes are so freakin’ heavy. It’s unreal. I told them that I got rid of them since every single time I talked about moving I would hear nothing but complaining about those magazine boxes for two weeks straight. I would just move them myself, but I have two ruptured discs in my back, so I cannot even lift the damn boxes. Being Madonna’s number one fan is going to be the end of me yet.

So there it is. I will probably be dead on Saturday. Murdered by my family. I just want to take this moment to thank all my friends for the good memories. Remember me fondly as they are trying to identify my remains.