Moving.

I have pretty much decided I absolutely hate moving. It is probably the worst thing you could tell me to do. Any of you who know me probably are thinking, "What? From the girl who has 12 library cards?" But it's true. I think the only think I hate more than moving is getting a shot, and even that, there's less emotional whorah there because you get to get all nice and anxious then poke and you're done. This whole pack all your stuff AGAIN, this whole, where are you going to be, where can you live, where will you land, is it temporary or do you have a say in it? YUCK YUCK YUCK.

That's what I have to say about it.

Murry didn't seem to have a probably with me moving him from one room to the next.

I just want to get it over with because it's like ripping a bandaid off real slow, or dumping some hydrogen peroxide in the cut. You know it's going to suck... and you still have to do it. I want to be done moving.

It's amazing I know, that I should feel this violently towards the process considering how many times I have done this. If I count since I entered undergraduate.. since I was 20, I have packed all my stuff up and lived somewhere else it's been ten times. In six years, I've moved ten times. Well hell. There you have it. Talk about a lack of permanence.

I guess I shouldn't be complaining because Murry's going to have to move every year.

Maybe I should save him that trouble and let him go at the Butterfly Museum so he can live out his peaceful life in one location, year round.