: this is me leaving :

Making a slow getaway is more like it, with a dopey grin on my face. I’m finally moving. Yeehaw! In eight short days. That’s the 3rd for those of you keeping score.

It’s time to stop anticipating the event, quit daydreaming of the blissful quiet and uninterrupted hours of restful sleep awaiting me, and get down to brass tacks: the packing and hauling. And that will be a snap, if not a pleasure. You see, I’ve been off-loading and downsizing like a maniac in preparation. If I absolutely had to, I could be out of here in three hours. Four, tops.

moving-process

But since there’s no need to rush I’ll take my sweet time and savor the experience. Departure is such a lovely word when you stop to think about it. So I will, I’ll think about it, which won’t leave much time for the upkeep and servicing of the whirly girl. Oh, I’ll still be the whirly girl — and proud of it — I’ll just be on light duty for a week or two.

I’ve gathered a nice selection of jokes, fun images, humorous anecdotes, some entertaining re-blogs in case of emergency (my money’s on falling down an elevator shaft), stuff to keep things interesting. Ha, keep? I wish. Anywatrappedy, you may not even notice I’m gone. I will, though. I’ll notice the Hell out of it. No more days trapped under a huge, stampeding buffalo. No more long nights of caterwauling ceiling joists and bed springs. Not for me. I. Am. Out of here.

Well, soon, anyway. Adios, muchachos.

copyright © 2016 the whirly girl

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