Dear Mr/Ms. House,

I have happily lived in you for over seven years. I’ve happily sat on your sofas, and watched your fat screen tv, especially in the recent days, during the London Olympics. I have gladly slept on your bed for over  25,000 hours. I ate on your table more than 8,000 times. There was the days when your head cracked, and rain leaked inside. But we gave you surgery, and after the metal replacement, you were better than new. Yes that was candle wax on your carpet a couple months ago, but hey, we cleaned it up. And even though you burned, cut, scraped, and bruised me a couple of times, I never complained. So why are you giving me such a hard time now?

Ok fine, I am leaving your skin and bones behind , but for heaven’s sake, I don’t even know how to start packing and moving your insides. Should I first pack the wires and cables? Maybe some of it, but who knows what I’ll need. What about my brigade of pens, can I pack those? I don’t want them geting lost, so I think I’ll pack them later. You see, you have left me in quite a conundrum. With less than 2 weeks to go,  how can I move everything?

Should I pack this, should I pack that, Should I pack some of it, should I pack all of it. What have I done to you to deserve this? Don’t worry, if you cooperate this will be painless… and if you don’t, this is going to be a nightmare. Ok, fine, its going to be more of a nightmare for me, but I’ll somehow hurt you if you don’t cooperate…

Love,

Bill