Discombobulated is working for me right now. Our chaotic management is assembling the process that gets a unit occupied in such a shambolic way! I believe it's down to a one week lead time, but "It could be two, Honey." I choose to remain unfazed and unflustered.
I've arranged to be moved by a company that has a management person living right here in the park. In fact, when word got around, as it does, he dropped by with his business card and listened to my tale of park stupidity.
The next day a scheduling clerk called me with a quote of two men and three hours to load me up and unload me about a hundred feet away, as the crow flies. Sadly, that's not the way the road goes.
I putt along at packing. I'm an old camper, and can live on one pan and a mess kit indefinitely. I'm pretty much down to my room to finish packing. I moved in with a minimum, and am moving out the same, plus the studio. And that was a lot of fiddly packing.
Mr. Cat is not pleased, either. Discombobulated is his middle name right now. Laura is gone, and he seems to know she's not coming back. Well, even a cat can figure out something's up.
My great grandmother's doorstop stays placidly on guard. He is conveying to the cat, Keep cool. This moving business happens over and over and over, and the most it has cost me is some paint chips.