I have no title for today

Lots of anxiety-producing dreams last night, mostly centred around having to move. I dreamed I was helping my parents pack up their house and that we were done except for the books. We were discussing this at a restaurant, where we'd gathered with a whole bunch of my friends, when I realized that I was supposed to have packed up my own home as well, and now I only had one afternoon in which to do it.

I remember yelling at them that it had taken me two weeks to pack up my apartment the last time, when I didn't have as much stuff, and how did they expect me to get things done in six hours when they hadn't even packed their 12,000 books and wanted me to help with that too?

There was a little interlude which was actually kind of fun, in which my father and I were walking away from the restaurant, and he challenged me to a race, which I think ended up being a tie. It was a fun, non-competitive race, and I remember laughing while I was running.

Unfortunately, the pleasure was short-lived, as the reality of having to move descended once more. It turned out that we weren't so much moving house as we were bugging out, as was made more than clear by the state the city was in: everywhere I looked, it seemed as though destruction and decay had set in.

I awoke before I could figure out what had caused TEOTWAWKI, but the signs were definitely there.

*refrains from gutting cat like a fish*

So not only did I have to clean up cat puke when I got home, I had to clean up cat puke that was filled with my brand-new yarn, which George dug in my bag, fished out, and then consumed.

No, it's not the laceweight, but still. ARGH!

I should be grateful the yarn didn't wrap itself around his intestines and cause a blockage, costing me several thousand dollars' worth of vet visits, but somehow I find that gratitude isn't uppermost in my mind right now.

*censored* cat.