I feel stressed and restless, like my bones are being microwaved. I wish I could simply trash my possessions so I wouldn't have to deal with packing for the move. I guess when you live in a 10x12 bedroom, it can be easy to forget how much shit you actually own. But I have a ton of storage here. In the new apartment, closet space will be minimal. And Rob seems to be taking out his stress in exactly the opposite way: by not thinking at all about what needs to be done. So, am I freaking out? Absolutely. I just need to keep telling myself everything will be fine. And maybe pour myself a drink before bed.