In a moment of personal sharing: moving blows.
Some people don’t mind aspects of it, but generally speaking, I loathe it. I come from Team Homebody and I don’t like changing teams. When I settle into a place, unless it becomes unbearable for some reason or I find something massively better, I don’t want to leave. However, sometimes we are not given a choice in the matter and we must vacate our homes (note the crazy third person speak emerging again – a sure sign of impending insanity). We currently sit in just this position and it crushes our mental, emotional, physical selves constantly. Thus, we are currently rendered incapable of maintaining states which usually come naturally to us: patience, understanding, sympathy, coherent thought and a mind that lives to write.
Of these, next to the writing, the one that I find most aggravating is a lack of patience. Every bit of other people’s minor issues right now make me want to go all Carole Kane in Scrooged on them and start wielding a toaster as a deadly weapon.
However, as we always must, we carry on – in the hope that soon the horrors of home abandonment will give way to the joys of a new life and some minor equilibrium will be restored to our person before, “Look, Frank, it’s a toaster!” becomes our feared catchphrase.