Moving Sucks

I am living in the land of boxes. Literally. My hole is stacked floor to ceiling with boxes. (Michael, you should be ashamed for thinking such dirty things!)
(As soon as I unpack said boxes and find the cord to my digital camera I will post photos of the mess I have created the last four days.) It's quite the little fire hazard I must say, I'm really kind of proud.
Actually, I'm a little disappointed in myself. I've been on vacation since last Wednesday and I don't feel like I've had much of a vacation. So far my vacation has consisted of taking a hard ass test, visiting my mom, finding out I'm being furloughed (i.e. losing my job on May 1), and packing. What sort of sick vacation is that? And to top it all off, tomorrow, on my 29th birthday, I get to move! I hate moving, I mean I REALLY hate moving. Granted, the end result will be orgasmic, but the actual moving sucks.
So, today I get to add to my list of fun vacation festivities. I get to clean out the refrigerator! Yeah! And bathe the dogs! Yeah! And go to JFK to pick up the car! Yeah!
Did I mention that moving sucks?