It's 7:55 p.m. and I'm lying in bed with a cup of peppermint tea struggling to keep my eyes open. This has basically been my routine since the time changed. The minute the sun sets my body automatically assumes it's 9 p.m. and basically checks out. Which is super convenient considering there are a number of things I need to do after the 8-5 grind. Like pack up my apartment.
I'm saying sayonara to my first apartment in KC this weekend. The one where I learned to appreciate alone time and onsite maintenance. I made pancakes for the first time in this humble abode. I also stayed up most of the night once with a serated kitchen knife in hand. I'd like to think I've come a long way.
So naturally I'm listening to Sia's Elastic Heart and making absolutely no progress on packing. Because when has moving been stressful for anyone, ever?
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