Put me out of her misery. Please! The Drahma Queen spent time and effort to send me a message spelling out how much she hates me. She is spending her energy actually wishing that bad things happen to me. She's young. At some point, she will either get tired of flouncing around claiming the center of every stage simply because she lost a baby, or someone will slap her in the face with a wet mop. I vote for the mop, but fatigue will probably win.
Horrible things happen. Horrible things have happened to me. I don't claim center stage because of it. 2003 is a year of my life I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And that's enough about that.
I've got to move my worktable away from the window so the new window can go in. That means that I need to clear off my worktable, to move it and the table by itself is heavy. Time to go get book boxes out of my truck and cart them into the house. I've got tape and plenty of markers.
Do I want to pack up my stuff? No. Will I? Yes. I've heard from others that I should not allow the movers to pack my scrapbook paper. They will not pack it flat.