... and 3 months (that my flatmate has been staying with us), turns into 4. That excited remark of "3 weeks to go!" becomes less and less likely, and eventually the date that I had estimated to be moving passes. It's beginning to sound like a joke. Every time I get my hopes up that this might actually be it, they are dashed by the fact that there is no progress report, and no official word from the people in charge.
My bedroom is looking more and more chaotic as the days pass. The boxes, which up until now were sitting folded in the front room, are making their way, one by one, into my room. Huge and heavy rolls of packing paper have been bought, and each and every item that I have decided to keep so far is being carefully wrapped with the paper regardless of whether it needs to be or not. Each bundle has then been carefully placed back in the moving box as if it is cargo of the most precious variety.
I've sorted and tidied my bookshelf, and found things I forgot I had in the process. Lesson notes from my school days 9 years ago have finally been thrown away (why was I keeping them anyway?), and folders have been emptied, ready to be used again at a later stage when I need another filing system to keep important documents.
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