|This is how I feel today!|
I have the utmost respect for people who move often. Actually, respect isn't the perfect word; what's a word for feeling equally empathetic, horrified and pitying? The problem is that when we moved in, we owned nothing, so it took all of two car loads to get everything Ryan and I had into our new home. Seven years, seven Black Fridays, 84 Scott's Antique Markets, 14 semi-annual sale seasons and three years with a major discount at Pottery Barn--and now it's taking an army to move us all of five miles.
I. Hate. Moving.
Really, I only want to do this once again in my life (into my long-term dream home). Even then I'm going to save all of my birthday card money and Christmas checks and pennies found on sidewalks in order to hire a moving company to fully pack up our stuff and settle it in our new house. Not just the big stuff and furniture--everything.
This time around, what started as a very organized, cathartic purge-and-pack process has quickly escalated to a "Who cares! Just shove it in a box and we'll deal with it at the new house!" process. Ugh. Even thinking about it now, all those boxes crammed with illogical items grouped together, waiting for me when we get back from our trip, makes my skin crawl. Oh well. Please remind me to take my time, be ruthless in purging, and do a little each day. I will survive (mantra).
Anyone feel like unpacking boxes mid-November?
C'mon...I know you're dying to help!
No thanks, you say?!?
Fine. Be that way. (I can't blame you.) :)