I feel like grumpy cat.
I’m surrounded by cardboard boxes, and I have no desire to play in a single one. In fact, I’m supposed to be packing them. That’s right. After all that work apartment hunting, Manfriend, my other ginger roommate (I seem to attract them) and I are moving across town into our new place. That’s part of the reason I’ve been absent from the blog for a while. I’m sorry!
It’s an adorable duplex with lots of character (yes that means it needs a little love), and it’s close enough to downtown I can now walk to work. But more on that once we’re settled.
I spent five years moving from one place to another through college, and even lugged my bedroom from my lovely small town to Virginia. But something about this move seems harder. Like I’ve accrued an entire department store in the past year.
Despite only moving across town, we must rent a moving van and stuff our cars to the brim in the most creative way so it all fits. I’ve bribed my friends and family with beer and pizza for their help (Thank you!), but the worst part has been the packing preparation.
Knick knacks had to be cushioned in such a way that I became proud of my job just for the surplus of newspapers lying around. We ate odd combinations of leftovers for a week to empty the refrigerator. Don’t even get me started on the jigsaw puzzle that are the pots, pans, plates and bowls. Manfriend — master of Tupperware — was a big help. We may as well toss in the kitchen sink.
Because I sometimes wonder if I really am turning into my mother, I wanted to plan ahead. We began packing right after the Fourth of July and packed a little every weekend. In the week leading up to the move, we’ve packed enough that we only spend an hour a night buried in boxes.
But it was the miscellaneous and the forgotten that made the job tedious. The extra lotions in the cupboards, old phone cases found under the bed and shoes missing their match in the back of the closet. Old teddy bears that had seen better days and pay stubs from old jobs.
Through it all, I’ve found packing up your existence really demonstrates how much you value the material things in your life. You end up rating all your possessions on a sliding scale of usefulness and sentimentality with the leftovers reduced to a sad, crumpled cardboard box bound for Goodwill.
By the third day, I was as likely to throw something out as pack it just to save myself the energy. I guess there’s no better time to clean house then while you’re packing the entire thing into a moving van, two Toyotas and a Chevy.
Have you ever made a big move and packed your life up? Tell me about it!