Moving continues, though at a slower pace than I would like. John is doing the heavy lifting, moving his books from my shelves to his, then if he's up to it moving my bookshelves to the staging area. I'm pretty much useless; I loaded four boxes of DVDs and one box of clothing, but now my head is aching from bending over. It's terribly frustrating for someone as mentally independent as I to not be able to do the simplest of physical tasks without becoming ill.
I still have accessories to pack, and laundry to sort between what I need over the next week and what can be packed away, and I need to do that today. Tomorrow I need to start separating out the common property - mostly kitchen stuff, but we need to talk about who keeps what storage containers and stuff.
Depression is pulling me down, and I know I have to stop it because I simply don't have the time to indulge in it - my move day is nine days away.
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