Friday we finally had our stuff together enough to have the fantasy that we're leaving today. Quantum runs down to the tag agency to get the trailers registered. Wee! We're now committed to being in CO within 10 days.
Oh and by the way, the day we actually GET the tags counts as one of those 10 days. Motor Vehicle of Florida doesn't have 24 hour days, no matter when you FINALLY get through their cluster of paperwork, just DATE days, Gotta love it.
Well of course, Quantum returns from the tag office with the news that...even though we've contacted them at least 3 times in the past several months (including just two days ago) there's some problem with some clerk at the office who doesn't understand how this all is supposed to work, and no she won't give us a temp tag.
So Quantum runs off to the NEXT local tag agency (the good news about living in a metropolis is there's usually several of these, unlike when I lived in Bofuck NY). They issue him a set of tags for each trailer and we should be good to go.
Except going isn't happening. By now its mid-afternoon, we still have a ton of shit that needs to be packed and/or thrown out. Most of the as-of-yet un-thrown out stuff is due to the fact that Quantum and I don't seem to be communicating well over this. I've given up waiting on him to pack things that I see as his personal items. He has some fantasy that he's not taking it with him or that maybe it's going to be packed fast...or maybe that its going to pack ITSELF, I suppose. So down to the wire, and with no direction from him other than "I'll deal with it," I'm packing everything of his that might possibly be something he wants to keep, plus a few last minute things of my own and the rest of the compter and/or kitchen things we couldn't live without till now.
Our buddy Steve is here, trying to help us wrangle the very confused and upset puppy, while also helping us evacuate all the unwanted crap from the condo. Chairs, coffee table, whatever, over the railing and CRASH on the ground below, hopefully splintering itself into easier to carry shreds. The furniture was nice when it was new, but now its so roached out and dog-eaten that even Goodwill would refuse it. Eventually we realize there's still too much to do and we call it a night.
No comments:
Post a Comment