Got the last box up here into the garage at about 7:30 last night. Went in and had a double martini, a bit of something to eat, and went to bed. Up at 6am, said to Hell with it, back to bed. Up at 11, ate. Back is killing me. Back to bed. Out. Trying it again, now it’s 2pm. Still tired. Coughing up all sorts of phlegm, from working with all the dust and grime and the gritty corners of the old garage.
I’m taking what’s left of today off to rest, and maybe tomorrow too. Then I can start unpacking, 2 or 3 boxes a day, for the next ... forever.
Wake up Biatch, its December second already.