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Should have called the manager of the new apartments Monday to see when I can get the keys.  Should have  called the movers and scheduled them accordingly. Should have called a document shredding service to find out what they charge — I have a short ton of stuff that needs shredding. Should have done my taxes this week.  Should have started culling and packing.  Instead, I’ve done squat all week except read and sleep.  And have weird dreams . . . about an alcoholic poet (played in the movie by Tommy Lee Jones) who grew up in the rural Bible belt, who has drunk himself into locked-in helplessness  and the narrow-minded, hide-bound family he’d tried all his life to get away from were now in complete control of him, “gate keeping” and cashing in on his fame.  . . .In the living room of the house of the lady who used to keep us after school when we lived in the house before the one the folks live in now, only not exactly, taking somebody to the kitchen window to show them our house across the street, only outside everything is completely changed.  Streets laid out differently, different buildings, and I don’t recognize anything.  Going outside, out on the street and I have no clue where I am.  Anxiety dreams turned up to 11.

A lady called about the china Tuesday.  Brought the heavy boxes inside (broke a fingernail off below the quick in the process and it bled).  She looked at them, took a picture of them with her cell phone to show her husband.  Said she’d call later.  Never did.

First time I’ve turned the ‘puter on since Monday.  Way behind on my blog reading.  I need to get my rear in gear.  At least get my taxes done and filed this weekend, pay bills.  Need to have some garage sales, run some ads in the paper.  Clear off some of the furniture I’m selling and take pictures for the ads.  Sort my books out.  Call the Friends of the Library.  Next week.