Jeneane really feels like packing up someone else’s stuff (and selling some on eBay).

Margaret and I feel nauseous about packing and decluttering our stuff before we go to Princeton.

Why does she live there when we live here?

[Speaking of Jeneane, last night Margaret and I had a difficult time sleeping because Beatrice kept whining and yipping in response to a mysterious thumping sound we heard in the night. Jeneane theorizes that it was the hamster-essence of Marshmallow, making its way to Hamster Heaven, intimidating our seven-year-old Bichon Frisé puppy.]

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