I am not a nice person when I move. When I have THAT MUCH to do, all of my scattered thoughts join forces for once, and I tend to go into "Just get it the fuck done" mode. Kind of like when the Power Rangers assemble into the MegaRangerNinjaDinoMonster With Power-Chop Action Arms. A slightly more old-school reference, and one more suited to my leonine nature: When I get this stressed out about moving, my brain totally pulls a Voltron, combining the disparate Lions that make up my usual activities for the day and forming them into one giant, ultra-powerful robot focused on one thing and one thing only: change of address cards.
The upshot of this is: be patient with me. I am not going to be a lot of fun. I know this ahead of time. Last time I moved I ended up getting into a screaming match with a cop, if you recall. At least this time around, we have hired movers -- but that means that everything actually HAS to be done beforehand. None of this shoveling crap willy-nilly into garbage bags the day of the move.
In return for general patience, I promise that this time, I will not get into a screaming match with a cop.
Unless they really deserve it.