Resisting the urge to make a packing tape brassiere

Only kind of though. It's just that I've been going through SO MUCH PACKING TAPE that I want to find other uses for it to squelch the urge to tape my eyes, nose and mouth shut in protest of having to pack any more.

Holy shit we have a lot of shit. Shit that makes me think "why the shit do we have this shit?" And shit that makes me think out loud, "what the shit were we thinking not getting rid of this shit earlier?" Some shit is kind of a shame to part with. Like my empty 10 gallon aquarium. I bought it in a kit about 3 yrs ago and have really enjoyed it and it's something that I want to continue. I currently have 2 tanks, a glass 10 gallon one and an acrylic 5 gallon one. I transferred the remaining occupants to the 5 galloner and adopted it out. The poor suckers are currently swimming around in a bucket because I cleaned out their home in preparation of their big move and the water has to settle and shit. Their new daddy is picking them up tomorrow so I have to prepare myself for a new round of "Are youuuu ma daddyyyy?"

*Hopefully* the 'keets Burt and Gert will be adopted out tomorrow as well. The fishies' new daddy's sister (my friend) is coming along for the ride and she said she'll take a look at the little flying rodents darlings and maybe take them as well. Bless her. I told Jeff to take a $50 out of the bank in case I have to chase her down the street to try to convince her.

That leaves the inanimate objects of the bunch. The shit previously mentioned. I've been doing it little by little but still. There is so much. Just when I think I have a handle on it and am making progress I find another f-in closet that mysteriously appeared in the middle of a wall and that magically filled itself with more shit. At least I didn't wait until the last minute to do this. We have about a week and a half before the Pod comes to magically load itself.

And then there is Simon. My dear little pumpkin head who is wholeheartedly convinced that we're going to leave him to fend for himself in the empty house full of spirits. He's got to inspect everything that gets put into boxes and he's hovering around every box I'm taping together like a manager that wants to take me into the back stockroom for a good spankin. Holy Christ. I love the dog as if I birthed his fat ass myself but enough is enough, bubba lips. YOU ARE COMING WITH US AND YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S IN STORE FOR YOU. I'm still trying to figure out how to get him to down a few Percocet and gin Martinis before loading him into a box and boarding the flight that will take us to our new home.

I just realized that I never finished the story I meant to tell about my 10 gallon fish tank. Oh well. Blame it on the packing tape brassiere.