I present to you, Burning From Scratch. Enjoy.

Day Eighty-Five: Still Fightin' the Good Fight...

Although move-in weekend was quite warm, it was unseasonably so. Now, it's back to 50-some degrees, and my apartment is chilly. I'm also getting quite sick of crock-pot leftovers and having to drive ten minutes to a hot shower, but such is life. It's only been three days -- you'd think I would have more endurance than this. However, I don't.

I'm off to make up my sofa bed and watch some prime-time major network television from the ten channels I get on my TV.

I'm really very lucky. But heat is one of those things you really don't think about until you don't have it. I'm not FREEZING, but I am uncomfortably chilly.

PECO had better turn my gas on on Saturday, or I'm going to drive down there myself and kick some ass.

I swear, the decent writing is coming.

Day Eighty-Four: Still Truckin'

I'm still dying. I spent all day unpacking and I physically cannot stop moving. I think I have an illness. I can't sit still for more than five minutes, because I find something else to do.

PLEASE SAVE ME.

Day Eighty-Three: So Tired

I have moved, and I am exhausted. I have internet, as there are many connections around me. This is good. I scratched my car and I won't have hot water/gas stove/heat for a week.

Stories to follow.

Must sleep.

MUST.

Day Eight-Two: A Dry and Barren Land

I warn you, dear friends and sparse readers, that I will be without internet for a week, beginning tomorrow. So I may not be able to post everyday, but I will still be writing everyday. I still might be not writing quality reading, because I'm losing my mind and I've lost my dedication to this blog (but my new one will be FABULOUS), but I will be dedicated. I vowed to write everyday for a year, and I will do that.

I will write SOMETHING everyday.

Today, I'm writing to say a tentative goodbye, as I travel away to a dry and barren land, devoid of internet.

Goodbye, readers! (Few readers....no readers....)

Day Eighty-One: I Have to Wonder...

If Julie Powell had been moving WHILE she was in the middle of cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, would she have fallen behind? Probably. Then again, she also didn't cook every single day.

I, on the other hand, am writing every single day. It's annoying. And in the middle of moving, it's feeling like more and more of a chore. There's no joy left. I can't wait to start my new project and actually get some feeling back in my creativity. This is just so damn stupid, at this point.

I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm dirty. I've packed, I've gone up and down stairs for an hour, and I've packed all my crap up. I want a snack, a conversation with my boyfriend, and sleep. I'll probably get one of those.

Day Eighty: Thanks, Spring

As much as I love spring, I remembered today why spring and I so often do not get along as well as I would like. Today at around 3 PM, I got one of those stubborn, unwielding headaches that can only be cured by a couple Sudafed, possibly a few Advil, and a good, solid nap. Unfortunately, I had only the Advil.

With spring, plants grow. Grass grows, flowers grow, and pollen, seeds, and whathaveyou float freely and lively through the air. And they float up my nose, into my head, and make my sinuses swell. Spring has sprung, and so have my allergies. Stupid, stupid allergies.

So I'm sitting here trying to concentrate, when all my body wants is bed and a book, because the Advil wore off, and the Sudafed was too late (or may not have worked at all). Oh Spring, you are a double-edged sword...if that even makes sense.