Who Said Moving Was Stressful?

Ow. I think the boredom's making my head hurt. That, or all the Valium... Anyway, yesterday was supposed to be The Moving Day, Part 2 (tm). But somewhere along the line it just crashed, burned and exploded violently. 29 people were killed. But apart from that little occurence, pretty everything that could go wrong, did go horribly, horribly wrong. Imagine it. I'm standing in what will soon be the new kitchen at about 9 a.m., pretty happy with the idea of getting a house again. And that's an accomplishment, I'm really not a morning person. But then it all goes rapidly downhill from there. Furniture doesn't arrive! The curtains don't fit! The TV doesn't fit on the stand! The shower doesn't work! Pressing certain lightswitches makes small children explode! Really, it keeps going, it's a very long list. Needless to say, hilarity ensued. I've never seen so many builders in any one place at any one time. They were everywhere. Most seemed hellbent on crushing my dog. Maybe I'm just biased against the construction industry in general. They ran into my old house in a steamroller, threw a sledgehammer through my bedroom wall, and my personal favourite, tested for live wires... With a pitchfork. ... I think the conversation went something like this: Builder: How's it going? I have a deathwish and would like to commit personal and professional suicide as well as causing grevious damage to just about everything possible. Will you bear witness? Me: You are silly. ...I paraphrased. I'm just waiting for the same thing to happen here. Now... where did I leave that Valium?