Moving has been hard. I own so much shit. I forgot how crafty I used to be, once upon a time, in a bigger house, with a bigger paycheck. I don't really want to throw out any old projects but it's sad how estranged I feel from that version of me.

My family keeps offering to help but so far they've been here two hours out of the two months this has taken. And by "they" I mean one sibling. It's not their fault, and it's more than I expected, but sometimes I wish they helped me as much as I helped them.