Moving Daze

No one has ever accused me of being a hoarder. Let’s just get that out of the way right off the bat. I’m not going to be the subject of a docudrama airing on A&E that chronicles my struggles with throwing out a three-foot thick (and growing!) bundle of used chopped sticks or mountain of “recycled” dryer sheets I need a step-ladder to reach the top of. Definitely I am no hoarder. I can navigate through all the rooms in my house with ease instead of shimmying through a narrow path I’ve cut out through stacks of old TV Guides and flattened cereal boxes.

Am I a pack rat? A stronger case could be made for this classification, I’m sorry to say. I came to this shameful realization just recently when I had to box up everything I own and move into a new place.  I guess the time has flown by since the last time I had to do this because it was pretty close to being utter hell. The entire process of moving is fraught with stress. Having too much stuff but too few boxes was a source of constant concern during the whole thing. It got so bad I was reduced to scrounging for empty boxes from grocery stores.  Now half my stuff smells like Aisle 5 of the local Acme.

Once I did have enough boxes the next obstacle was transporting them. Sounds simple. You load the box, you carry it to the car, you drive to the new place, you carry it inside, you unload it. Easy peasy, right? It would be except that it slipped my mind that boxes have these pesky things called “weight limits.” I loaded many of them up well past their limit without knowing it. The heavy boxes filled with books inevitably ended up falling apart half way between the truck to the house leaving all my precious novels scattered on the pavement and me in need of yet another box to re-pack them into. Okay, well, several boxes.

On top of my admitted clutter problem (I promise to seek help for it one day) and my inability to consider the tensile strength of cardboard, I also have a looming procrastination condition that leaves me constantly at war with myself. I had these aspirations floating around in my head that when I’d be moving I’d be neat and orderly and well-coordinated.  All the boxes would be clearly labeled and stacked together in neat piles just like how the Brady Bunch would do it. It’s a pity to confess that what actually happened ended up looking more like a moving job performed by The Clampetts on their way to Beverly Hills. All my earthly treasures were thrust together without rhyme or reason, tied down with a coarse rope, and rattling around during the whole ride as I hoped whatever I heard just break wasn’t something too important.

But in the end, the job got done. Now I’m not saying it was the prettiest or the most efficient or, hell, even the most sane, but all my stuff made it from Point A to Point B. That’s all that matters.

Now onward to the unpacking!

24 thoughts on “Moving Daze

  1. Congratulations on a safe albeit adventuresome move. I hope you have a great time in your new place. I hate moving.

  2. well hoarding now has its own area in the classification system – falling under and OCD – and I used to watch the show years ago – and would want to clean the garage after a few episodes were soaked up ! – but then so many of the episodes seemed to get more intense – and really made me want to throw up – whew – but I did enjoy learning about this condition… and I like the pack rat term you mention – because whew – nothing like “moving” to see how much stuff has accumulated.

  3. We’ve been in this house 25 years and there’s a reason we’re not moving out, even though we don’t need a 5-bedroom house for just the two of us now that the kids are gone…

  4. Books are a nightmare to move. I did the same thing, loading up boxes to the brim with books before discovering the error of my ways… which also meant discovering that I no longer had enough boxes for the books. I dread having to move again since my library has probably quadrupled since my last move…

    • I’m the same way! I can easily downsize just about everything in my home with the exception of books! They just seem to grow in number. I even have boxes of them stored in the shed (formerly the attic) because I simply don’t have enough room in the house. One day I will have a room dedicated as a library or den with walls as bookshelves and then I will be in absolute heaven. .

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