So, I moved house this weekend. Supposedly the most stressful thing you can deal with apart from birth and death. Yet knowing this much quoted fact, I still decided to move my boxes in, then leave them all behind and go and get battered in Oxford.
Sunday morning, I woke at about 10am with the world's driest mouth, a banging headache, an unexplained bloodspot at the foot of my duvet and a room still full of boxes. I honestly nearly cried.
Why do we do this to ourselves?! I'm 27 this year and I know unpacking is never fun, but OH LORD is it worse when seriously hungover. I managed just two boxes in my first three hours. Though admittedly this did include a two hour "power nap" to give me the will to carry on.
Happily I got through it and can now see large areas of my bedroom floor. But I say it now, and this time I mean it: NEVER AGAIN!
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