29 days.

I wish I had something fun and interesting to write about. But really, I don't. I have become progressively stressed out because within the next month, before I fly home to lovely LA for the summer, these are the following things I have to deal with:

First and foremost, I have to pack up the apartment in which I've lived for the past three years. Then add the 3 years of stuff I carted from dorm room to dorm room. You can't even begin to guess the amount of stuff - really, crap - I have. I don't even want to know what I have stored in the basement. And I'm a sentimental fool and can't give any of it up.

Not only do I have to pack it, I have to divide it into five categories:

1) Stuff that gets moved to Cambridge (only the absolute essentials, I swear)
2) Stuff that gets sent home in crankypants's car (china, glassware, and as many shoes and purses as I can fit)
3) Stuff that gets shipped (books, and anything that doesn't fit in crankypants's car.)
4) Stuff that I will take home myself (those clothes and shoes I cannot be separated from for more than 24 hours, which is sadly a lot)
5) Stuff to give away (things I really don't need after all).

There is not nearly enough stuff in the last category, and too much in the previous four. I used an entire Sunday New York Times to wrap breakables, and still am not done. Why does a drunken klutz like me have so many fragile items? Also, I have more shoes and purses than I know what to do with. Why? I have but one pair of feet and two hands.

I have only 4 weekends left before I fly home, and one will be spent in NY and one in Wisconsin. Unfortunately, the one spent in Wisconsin is the last weekend I have before going home. When in the hell am I going to move all my furniture?

Then, there is still working on this cholesterol research project, doing more research for an education professor here, oh, and a French one too, and also working at the French-American school.

Of course, I cannot leave Providence without having one last meal at all of my favourite restaurants here. Unfortunately, the list gets longer and longer. I have at least 5 "must" places on the list, and at least 10 more "if I have time, and I really hope I do" places, and everyone is studying for his/her Boards, dammit, so can't take time off for a leisurely wine-filled dinner.

Go to Newport. I don't go nearly enough, and it's only an hour away. What are the odds that I'll go if I'm any further away?

Go to the doctor's and have her attempt to convince me, Little Miss Hypochondriac, that I, in fact, am not suffering from hypothyroidism. But look, I have most of the symptoms! I left medical school at the worst time - had enough schooling to learn about all the various diseases and problems, yet didn't stay long enough to start ruling them out.

I have post-it notes (what marvelous inventions! I don't know what I'd do without them!) All Over My Apartment - some are lists, some are instructions, some are reminders. And to make things even worse, I don't seem to be able to stop shopping. Really, what's wrong with me? I'm supposed to be getting rid of stuff, not acquiring.

Sniffle, this is when I really desperately need servants. Really, I'll pay good money - and even throw in a home-cooked meal or three! - if someone else handles all of this for me.