One box packed...eighteen million to go.
Actually, it's not that bad. I've moved so many times that I've become a pro at this.
First of all, I'm not a packrat anymore. I throw away more stuff every time I move (and then buy more crap to make up for it).
Secondly, I can pack my entire apartment in one day if I really want to, but I usually stretch it over a couple of weeks since I'm convinced I'm going to need something in the bottom third of the stack of boxes.
Third, I don't have much furniture, so moving me is quite easy. I have this tendency to have only ONE friend free on Moving Day, but I've moved my entire apartment with just myself and that lucky friend in well under two hours. It simply takes determination, speed, efficiency, following my orders since I have Tetris-ninja packing skills, and NO BREAKS!!!
As cool as it is to move into a new place and figure out where the stuff goes, it's also kind of sad. Every time I leave a place, I leave a bunch of memories and stories behind. I often wonder if the new tenants will ever realize just how much has happened within these walls -- laughter, love, promises, heartbreak, joy, anticipation, rage, Naked Fairy Tales, kitties, parties -- it's all here. I see a memory everywhere I look.
Maybe that's why it always takes me so long to pack. It's like ending a chapter in a book. I know it has to end, and I want it to end, but it's so hard to write that final sentence. Saying goodbye to this apartment is saying goodbye to those ghosts and stories and faint memories of pure happiness and bitter sadness. I'll never see these walls again, and they'll hold these images forever.
It's hard to pack my most precious possessions into boxes that once held pepperoni and sausage, but the story cannot end here. I've written so many tales already, and another chapter lies ahead.
Actually, it's not that bad. I've moved so many times that I've become a pro at this.
First of all, I'm not a packrat anymore. I throw away more stuff every time I move (and then buy more crap to make up for it).
Secondly, I can pack my entire apartment in one day if I really want to, but I usually stretch it over a couple of weeks since I'm convinced I'm going to need something in the bottom third of the stack of boxes.
Third, I don't have much furniture, so moving me is quite easy. I have this tendency to have only ONE friend free on Moving Day, but I've moved my entire apartment with just myself and that lucky friend in well under two hours. It simply takes determination, speed, efficiency, following my orders since I have Tetris-ninja packing skills, and NO BREAKS!!!
As cool as it is to move into a new place and figure out where the stuff goes, it's also kind of sad. Every time I leave a place, I leave a bunch of memories and stories behind. I often wonder if the new tenants will ever realize just how much has happened within these walls -- laughter, love, promises, heartbreak, joy, anticipation, rage, Naked Fairy Tales, kitties, parties -- it's all here. I see a memory everywhere I look.
Maybe that's why it always takes me so long to pack. It's like ending a chapter in a book. I know it has to end, and I want it to end, but it's so hard to write that final sentence. Saying goodbye to this apartment is saying goodbye to those ghosts and stories and faint memories of pure happiness and bitter sadness. I'll never see these walls again, and they'll hold these images forever.
It's hard to pack my most precious possessions into boxes that once held pepperoni and sausage, but the story cannot end here. I've written so many tales already, and another chapter lies ahead.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
but it's still wierd. like while getting dressed i was thinking about which underwear to wear like he would be seeing them like usual. then i remembered, well at least i don't have to worry about panty-choosing tonight. hehe