It was almost exactly a year ago that we started boxing up all of our belongings in order to stage and sell our house, which poured over into packing and moving, which then became living at my inlaws, which has finally ended in the current stage, living with only partial bedroom furniture.

A year of living hobo-ishly.

I currently live in a lovely new house that is becoming HOME before my eyes, the lighting fixtures are in, the kitchen now has a table, the walls are finally properly wainscoted, the paint has been applied. But hell if I know where my socks and bras and underpants and tights and spanx and shoes and boots and sweaters and camisoles and t-shirts and sweatpants are. They are all in baskets and boxes scattered and stacked in my bedroom. It almost feels like summer camp, except in camp I have more shelving options, and I feel like there were more milk crates.

This awfully big adventure needs more available undergarments, I’m just saying.

It has also been almost exactly a year since I last worked out. I mean, sure I walk sometimes to, say, the mailbox. And I biked a good handful of times this summer, and I do chase after toddlers during photo shoots (toddlers, man, they are runners) but it has been almost a year since my trainer forced me to do things like squats and lunges and planks and ridiculously painful things to my triceps.

But today I went dumpster diving in some of the bigger boxes to find my running shoes and lululemons so I could see a resurgence of the spaghetti arms and jellylegs. Which, by the by, are such a blessing and a curse. I know I’m doing really importany things to try to jumpstart my metabolism after The Great Anti-Anxiety Pill Ten Pound Fiasco of 2015 but, well, let’s just say that tonight the following things are already difficult for me: climbing stairs, sitting on the toilet, brassiere removal. I am going to feel tomorrow.

Which, really, I’m already feeling so much these days, what’s a little added pain when I pee really? (Oh you know what I mean)

I know I’m not the only one feeling.

Feeling like the world has gone mad.

But I guess it’s my own personal coping mechanism to focus on the more manageable feelings. Like, say, this constant battle I’m having with my iPhone chargers. I even went so far as to put the springs from inside pens onto each end to try to save them—but all it did was prolong the inevitable. Like, a personal falling out I’m having with a friend. Like, the sudden death of my step-uncle, who unfortunately I haven’t seen in a  long time, but who I have some pretty great memories of, including a pretty rockin’ Elvis Tree. (Sorry, you had to be there) Like the fact that my son’s Bar Mitzvah is in less than two weeks. Like the fact that Emily’s currently giving me the stink eye (Nay, the entire stink face) because I won’t take her to Shoppers Drug Mart at 10:41 at night to buy her some Nair. (No really). Like the fact that I had to up my Word docs to 125% (Fine, 150%) (I’m basically just a 4:30pm dinner and pair of compression stockings away from being the fifth Golden Girl) and I’m pretty sure I need a new prescription but even though I take Isabella to vision therapy at the eye doctor every single Monday night, I still can’t figure out how to make an appointment for an eye exam.

These are the easy things to feel.

This, and the spaghettiarms.

*See what I did there?