Things that I loathe, like, loathe to the point that I actually get depressed and just want to sit on the couch and eat chips until the cops come find my body...are exactly the things my wife sets to with a frenetic glee. For example: moving. In my youth I typically waited until 11 pm the night before I moved to pack everything, in a chaotic explosion of random, unsorted boxes. I cared not what went where, never labeled the boxes. I just hated packing so much. Then, when I got moved to my new destination, only 50% of the boxes ever got unpacked. Typically the rest just lay open and I'd take things out of them one at a time as I needed them.
Insert my wife. Weeks ahead of time, she was planning, getting boxes, labeling things, packing fragile items in paper, scheduling utilities being turned off, and generally being awesome. I unhelpfully moped. Now we are moved, and she is in an unpacking blitzkrieg. I prefer to go to work and write about how much I hate unpacking.
The View From Your Window
25 minutes ago