You know the music that plays when the hero of a movie is dying an epic slow-motion death? It's dramatic, with strings and lots of big chords and sustained notes. That's what was playing at the end of Mad Max, when the man and I were the last ones in the theater, groaning like old dogs when we tried to make our sore muscles flex and support us while we stood up. It was almost enough to make me laugh, but my face hurts too much to smile. We couldn't really afford the six hours it took to retrieve his truck, fix the loose wire that made it not start at the gas station, go meet a guy about a thing, eat steak dinner out, and see a movie, but hey, we did it anyway. And now we're extra tired because of it.
This is the worst part of the move. Everything that can be easily sorted and organized into logical piles has been boxed up and moved out. We are at the "throw it in a box labeled 'skrit' and sort it later" stage. It's more mentally taxing than physically, but it is still a drag. I wanted to take a nap before we went out on our epic quest. All I managed was fifteen minutes with my feet up. By mutual agreement, we are going to go to bed early tonight (early being anything before 11 pm). We have concluded that we are dangerous to ourselves and others with this level of fatigue.
I don't have a lot to share. There are only a few pictures, from the last few days, that haven't fit with any other theme. I'll see what I can clear from the camera, and then it's time to hit the hay. The theory is we will work harder once it's daylight again.
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