The End

So.  February is over.  And with the end of February, I know several folks besides myself who were hoping that this year would slow down.  I told a friend of mine the other day that by 12-21-12 (which is, ya know, the end of the world and all), the world won't necessarily end, but we'll all be so sick and tired of the drama and the never-ending crap that we'll all just throw our hands up and walk away.  Mass exodus to the closest cruise ship that goes nowhere and never comes back.

Tequila manufacturers should start preparing now.

I don't think the year listened, though, because here it is, March 1, 2012, and my house is in a state of chaos that it hasn't seen in... well, at least 10 years.  I know, because it's been almost 10 years since we moved in.

And now, here we are, starting to pack up again.

We aren't going anywhere officially yet.  But tomorrow Oz or I will be headed to the storage facility to rent a unit, and I've already begun hoarding boxes and packing superfluous junk into them.

It's not all junk.  There are baby books, photo albums, holiday decorations, and other sundry items that I would actually cry if they went missing.  But I don't need five tablecloths (thanks, Grandma) and three sets of napkins.  The kids play with Play-Doh maybe twice a year.  I don't need fall curriculum until... well, August anyway, if not necessarily fall.  These things can be packed away.

Pepe, circa 2005

The end is also nigh for the Old Man Cat.  I thought it was bad a few months ago when he was the Stinky Death Cat, but no... that wasn't bad.  Well, ok, it was bad.  But it wasn't as pathetically bad as it is now.  Two days ago, he reached a new low.  I'm pretty sure he's no longer able to use the... er... feline facilities... with any grace, and he's tracking nasty little paw prints all over my floor.  Which means that any furniture he climbs on is also contaminated.  Which means he's not grooming himself.  And he's lost all the fight that he used to have when *I* groom him.  He just lies there like a limp mat and kind of moans a little.  It's really, really sad.  He's not eating well, not grooming himself, not using the bathroom... *sigh*  It's time.  I hate making these sorts of decisions, but I called the vet's office this afternoon and made a 9 a.m. appointment for tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure I'll go in with an animal and come home without one.  He's been a sweet, sweet boy for the few years we've had him, but he looks nothing like the cat in the photo above.  Which is another clue.

My house is filthy.  Dirty cat paw prints... dust everywhere... boxes piled in front of the living room closet door... M1 can't find his swim jammers OR his kick board (his goggles got schlepped to Pennsylvania with his grandfather. I'm grateful we had a secondary pair AND they're willing to mail the original ones back to us)... M2's closet has vomited Perler beads and articles of clothing that she stashed instead of putting them away... even the tablecloth is disgusting.  I lack the energy to deal with all of it.  Right now I should either be cleaning or be in the back yard putting a fresh coat of Rustoleum on the storm shelter door, but I have absolutely zero motivation.  Did I mention the realtor is coming on Monday to give the house a once-over and decide what else needs to be done and what the place might be worth?

Spring Break and summer are looming large, too.  The swim coach is incredibly excited about summer plans, and sign-up for those events starts next week.  The violin teacher is discussing the spring concert and asked me on Tuesday to help M2 get a solo ready.  It's a brand-new song.  We shall see.  M2's birthday is later this month, too, and I only started gift shopping this week - usually I'm done by now.  I need to get invitations for the party sent to her class next Thursday since that's when Spring Break starts (they get two weeks off), and oh yeah, I can't forget that she has to build a leprechaun trap that involves a simple machine.  (For the record, a simple machine may or may not be simple to build when you're talking about something that needs to be disposable.)

The end of this week, month, year, decade cannot come fast enough.  I'm ready for it all to be over.

Pass the Cuervo.