Let’s face it moving sucks. First of all, it forces me to take a good hard look at all the crap I’ve acquired and schlepped from place to place because I refuse to admit it’s crap. Why, why, why do I still have madras bermudas in my closet and a mink coat with one arm? If anyone wants either item please let me know asap. I’m a little afraid to move the coat however, for fear of it becoming a vest. I have shoes that are too small which make me wonder if they ever fit, and if they didn’t why I bought them. I have a small red purse. Huh? I have two white blouses that haven’t been white since 1998 and whoops, my friend Ellen’s University of Wisconsin sweatshirt that I forgot to return in 1973.
I’ve become an expert at packing up a kitchen. Yep, I’m fast, I’m good and have a low breakage record. My biggest weakness is the tape gun . Not a pretty sight. I’ve yet to master weilding tape and holding the bottom of the carton closed. Ok, I scream a lot and have on occasion thrown the box down and stomped on it. Fyi, crying doesn’t help either. And “just say no” to taping and drinking. Stacking up boxes filled with pots and pans I don’t use and the really really expensive china that has never seen a meal makes me ponder why I even need a kitchen. I don’t have the time or enough medication to explore that .
Once I start I’m a packing machine. Onward, tape gun in hand, I invade my office. Recklessly I throw away a Village Voice from 1972. I have no idea why I saved it which scares me but I toss it anyway. Pictures, books, #2 pencils, my old Filofax all go in boxes. A lone coaster doesn’t make the cut, or pictures of me with short hair. I vow to never move again. At least not until I use the china.
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p.s. I dropped your name on Gina's post, Barb. ;)
thank you so much Lisa, that helps a lot. I know he tried to blame me for so much stuff, but like I told all of his family and mine none of that added up to a divorce. I do realize it's his needs, it just hurts so bad to think how many years he's
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