I hate teeth. I also hate packing.

The list of stuff to do “after I get done with all this shit” is getting very long indeed. Packing cannot happen fast enough, especially with 2/3 of the equation busy making moon-eyes at itself and sucking back endless sticks o’ death. And my fucking teeth hurt, which is really the thing about to drive me right over the edge. I cannot put up with the belly-aching when I am only barely coherent ‘cuz of the raging ache that is my fucking face. And if one more person cheerfully tells me “Oh, it was nothing — got mine out and 2 days later I was fine,” I will personally remove their remaining teeth with a unsharpened pencil, which is the only implement I have left unpacked and within reach.

Things to look at later, perhaps, both from the work-realm:

I just want this entire week to end, so I can take a nap. In one house. Where all my stuff is. And my cat.

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