Packing

Or as I like to call it: throw it all away so you don’t have to pack it.

I know what you’re thinking: "Surely she jests!"

Nope, not really. I got rid of two garbage bags worth of stuff last night. Mostly purses and shoes, but if you take into account that I am a purse whore and a recovering shoe-a-holic, well, that’s a lot of stuff to throw away. I also gave away yet more clothes night before last. And before you go crying about me throwing away a ton of purses, let me assure you that there was a VERY good reason for this.

Some months ago I had some unwanted house guests. Uh, roughly 7 bajillion mice moved into my apartment with me. I managed to catch 11 with glue traps. Gross, I know. What was more disgusting was trying to keep Bear from EATING THEM OFF THE GLUE TRAPS. It’s like he thought I was leaving out exotic delicacies for him to eat in the middle of the night….but I digress.

ANYHOO, the mice, they got into my hall closet and crapped and pissed on almost everything in the closet, including my purse collection that was stashed in that particular closet. Bastards. I was able to salvage 2 or 3 bags from the 15 or so that were in the closet. SHUT UP. That is NOT a lot of purses. Anyway, I think I’m down to about 6 purses in all. We will not speak of the totes that I use to store knitting projects because they fall into another category and their number is higher, but whatever. COMPLETELY different subject.

And then there are the shoes. I went through a period where I bought all my shoes at Payless. Now there is nothing wrong with Payless, obviously, since I have shopped there, but the shoes were, while cute, not the most comfortable. And the ones I got rid of were all HORRIBLY OUT OF FASHION. They were "period pieces" if you will, so they had to go. Yes, I made poor choices in shoe fashion. I have since learned from the errors of my ways. We will never speak of this again.

(click to make it bigger. heh. heh.)

That’s April sitting on my couch. I blacked her face out for anonymity. And posterity, but mostly so you imaginary internets people won’t know what she looks like. She came over to keep me motivated with the packing and also because her power was out and I have air conditioning. We love cold air in the summer time. At her feet is her wonder dog Grace, and of course that would be Bear lounging in the foreground. Oh yes, and in the far left hand corner would be all the packing that I did. And you know what? The majority of it is done, minus the kitchen. Except it looks like I have done nothing. See? That is the beauty of THROWING THINGS AWAY. There is less to pack. Yippee.

I hate packing. And moving. But the sick thing is that I am COMPELLED to move every 1-2 years. MUST. LIVE. SOMEWHERE. ELSE. Now granted, when you get a divorce, you can’t really stay in the same house as your ex-spouse. Well, I suppose you could, but why would you torture yourself unnecessarily like that? So you could say in all the moving around the world that I have done (since I was 14, no less), only once was the move NECESSARY. The rest of the time…..well, that’s not true either.

I left home at 14 to go to boarding school on the OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD from the rest of my family because the school system I was in only went to the 9th grade (that was in Saudi Arabia). I spent 3 years moving back and forth from home to the boarding school. Then there was college. I think there is a law that you have to move constantly while in college. So, whatever, this time the move is also totally necessary. (Have I mentioned that I am the QUEEN of justification? Well, I am.) Eh, you get the point. I HAVE TO MOVE. The new place has NO MICE, a washer and dryer AND a dishwasher. It’s cheaper in rent and less space (I love the less is more theory and try to live by it). Therefore the move is NECESSARY and INEVITABLE. Oy vey, but the the connection fees the utility companies make you pay kind of make moving SUCK. Oh well, suck it up bucco, you HAVE TO MOVE. Somebody help me. I’m talking to myself on my blog. MUST. STOP.

My God I’m chatty today.

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