Going Around the Bend

You know what I absolutely loathe? Packing and moving. Yup, it's right up there along with my intense dislike for stupidity, incompetence, arrogance and dishonesty. It's one thing to plan a move and pack for it, quite another to be forced to quickly throw your entire household (life) into boxes so your home can be repaired from a freak sewer back-up/flood.

The insurance adjustor and restoration services company have been great since we met them four days ago, upon arriving home from Mexico to deal with the mess. They are professionals and obviously know from experience I am hanging onto my sanity by my fingernails and could lose it at any moment.

We can hardly move in our 1,000 square foot condo, what with all the kitchen appliances and drawers pulled out and placed everywhere, and furniture shoved every which way. Flooring is already pulled up and baseboards pulled off and piled up in doorways where I continuously trip over them as I hustle around trying to figure out what I am going to need for the next three months, and what can go to storage.

My tripping makes John turn white; I am barely recovered from a bad fall 3 weeks ago at the La Patrona Polo Club parking area in San Pancho, where a rough concrete curb removed several layers of my upper left thigh/lower buttock. It's the worst injury I've ever had (been lucky enough to never break a bone, so far). I wasn't able to sit down normally for well over two weeks. I was blue/black with bruising and had several long and deep abrasions that are "healing" in a way that looks suspiciously like (more) cellulite! Augh! And the limping! Nothing will make you feel old faster than having a limp.

I digress a bit, but have to share this - John looked at my severely skinned butt and said "We have to go home" meaning drive 40 minutes back to Bucerias to our condo, and miss the polo match, sunset dinner and live jazz at La Patrona Polo Club on that Saturday night. No way, I wanted to see polo. So, I staunched the bleeding in the ladies room (miraculously, my dress wasn't torn, and it was black so didn't show any blood) while John got us seats for the evening. He had to decline the white leather chairs initially offered for fear of staining, poor lad. Crimson velvet chairs were deemed safe, I sat on my right cheek all evening and, a couple of double vodka martinis later, I was in no pain. The polo match, dinner and music were fabulous - I'm so glad I didn't miss it. In fact, the photo on my blog site was taken that evening at the polo match. I don't look like I'm suffering - that must have been my second martini!

Back to the hell of packing...

Now, I have a tough time packing for a mere weekend away, never mind a three month stint. I don't know what I am going to want to wear, or what the weather is going to be like...it's a weird form of stress for me. I really like clothes and I care a lot about my appearance; it's hard to put together and pack outfits ensuring you have everything to make it work - from the right underwear to the right belt, shoes and jewelry. I am having to pack up during that difficult "between seasons" weather - winter clothes can be too heavy, summer clothes are too light - you know what I mean. Between seasons dressing is a bitch!

I did the best I could...packing was made somewhat easier due to the fact a lot that is in my closet is currently too tight on me. But that's a whole other blog topic.

I am ensconsed at Swans Hotel in Victoria, in a loft suite, drinking a wonderful Australian Shiraz/Viognier (Johnny Q.), surrounded by stuffed bags and boxes that can just wait to be unpacked. Most importantly, John and I need to decide where we're going to have dinner this evening.

Todo bien, amigos. (It's all good, friends).