At 8:45 this morning three burly men with incomprehensible (possibly West Indian?) accents arrived at my door with approximately 400 cardboard boxes, unlimited rolls of packing tape, and a bunch of packing blankets.
I gave them a quick tour of the apartment and they set to work. One guy headed into the bedroom, pulled out a radio tuned to the local Top 40 station, and hasn’t been seen since. The second guy tackled the bookcases in the living room, and is currently rapping to himself as he wraps the couch in a cocoon of plastic. The third guy is working his way through the cupboards in the kitchen.
Naturally I asked what I could do to help. “Nothing,” they said, “Just sit over there (indicating the chair) and relax.”
So here I am, sitting in a tranquil island of boredom amidst all the boxes, with nothing else to do but take every single Buzzfeed quiz known to man (for example, which musical theatre character am I? why, Mary Poppins, of course; because I am “practically perfect in every way” and “would be an excellent mother”), read Internet lists of very important facts that everyone should know (such as “24 ways to really piss off a Welsh person” — apparently they’re sensitive about valleys), and try not to be alarmed by snippets of overheard conversation (such as, “hey guys, the truck won’t start; I’m calling a mechanic”).
Also? I might starve to death.