Free to Write

Packing boxes took up most of the next few days. Jordan wasn't happy about it. She ached down to the tips of her ponytails, and had little scratches all over her hands that she couldn't define. She didn't really mind getting hurt, but it was easier to accept if she could remember doing it instead of having it be lost in the long meditation of packing. She never could think of nothing when she was still, but the repetitive motion turned off her brain like nothing else. Which probably meant that for her nirvana was something along the lines of working in a charity shop unpacking donations and sorting them into a manageable state for forever. She was remarkably good at doing that as well, even if it had more to do with unpacking.

Packing boxes were lined up everywhere. There was an island of them in the kitchen, they had blocked the fireplace, and the spare room upstairs that doubled as an office where they kept the printer was so packed that it was nearly unnavigable unless one was willing to risk death by cardboard.