I'm living among boxes. I'm sleeping among boxes. I'm dreaming about boxes. I walk around boxes, eat off of boxes, and use boxes as end tables. My cats are hiding in boxes, and my dog is threatening to chew a box apart.
I have just moved into Boston, downsizing from a large house in the suburbs. I love the city. The boxes, not so much.
Are there box fairies that might come and unpack everything overnight? Are they for hire?
I have no poetry books. What posessed me to pack all of my poetry? I have no clue where the poetry is. Did I spell "posessed" correctly?
Anybody know a good poem about boxes, Boston, or moving? Help me out--I got nothin'.