Say my name bitch

I am a huge control freak. I admit it. It's a weakness but it's one that I cannot help. I'm the person who hits the imaginary brakes when others are driving. You should see me now that there's a baby in the vehicle. Joe has the patience of a saint I tell you. And the cock of a god, but that's neither here nor there, I just like to brag.

Anyway. I knew that if I came up here with Jack a week early that not being able to oversee the packing of the U-Haul would make me crazy. I was convinced that fragile things would be thrown and have boxes of books placed on them. That furniture would be placed so that it could move around when the truck was in motion. That Joe would forget a room full of stuff. And I was convinced of all this before I left.

Joe and some friends from work are packing the U-Haul up today. He's paying them for their service in beer, so a bunch of drunk men that I don't know are handling my belongings. Joe calls me today to tell me he doesn't think everything will fit, and what of my computer parts can be left behind. Ok, so I have five computers (Two Macs, two PC's and the laptop) and I don't use all of them, and not everything works, but Dude! You do not leave behind my computer parts! I am going to rebuild them by cannibalizing parts, but DUDE you can't mess with my computers! Seriously, that is only second to telling me you broke my collection of faerie figurines. (Which have all their original boxes and were packed by my mother and I and obsessively labeled Fragile. I still wish I'd brought them with me though)

So now I am freaking out, convinced that everything I love and treasure will be left out for the dumpster divers, and that what has been packed is all broken and willy-nilly. My mom keeps telling me to let it go, but she's far less of a control freak than I so she can bite me. Drunk men have my things. They probably didn't even use the furniture pads. Or look at the labels on the boxes. Or stack things well.

My head hurts.