My stomach is in knots.  This is a little better than Cinder’s which has been gurgling with unnatural emphasis this week as she’s suffered from very bad diarrhea.  I had hoped her stomach issues were just the stress of seeing our house in chaos, but I soon realized there was more to it.  I had refilled her arthritis medicine from a new online pharmacy (chosen because they were cheap and ship to Italy), and I don’t know what was in those pills but it definitely wasn’t arthritis medicine.  Lesson learned: Pay the exorbitant price charged by your vet for prescription medications to avoid the exorbitant price charged by your vet for treatment.  I spent the week alternately packing and watching my dog.  “We have two weeks,” I told her repeatedly.  “No pressure, but I need you to be healthy.”  As soon as I stopped what I’m now calling the counterfeit medication Cinder seemed to be improving.  Then my best friend, Cheryl, called to tell me Cinder had puked in her clothes when she had been staying there for the afternoon.  ERGH!

Packing and watching my dog was now supplemented by praying and cooking lots of chicken and rice.  My apartment did not look like I would soon be leaving it.  I was way behind schedule.

On Wednesday I discovered the miracle of Space Bags and things started looking up.  I began vacuuming out the air of linens and clothes, reducing them to a fraction of their original size.   When I shipped the first load of my boxes to Italy on Friday, I was perhaps a little too gleeful.  It was the first thing I had checked off my to-do list all week.

Cinder is on the mend, and the apartment now looks like someone is leaving.  In fact, it kind of looks like someone came in and repossessed all the items of value.  I still have my tv, but I just unloaded the club chairs so Cinder isn’t thrilled that we are now sharing her loveseat.  “What are you doing for Easter?” my mom asked when she called this morning.  I thought of my pots and pans winging their way to Italy and my one fork and plate in my barren kitchen.  The huge brunch I’d prepared last year was a faint memory.  “Um, you know the usual.  Mexican Food with Cheryl.”