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.]