Just in: Moving sucks and always will

Monday, August 4, 2014

I want to take the bold stance that I'm always going to loathe moving. Is there any worse pre-planned activity?*

Moving starts with packing which (newsflash) starts with organizing. JUST KILL ME NOW. At home, I thrive while living in a disorganized state. My boyfriend once (endearingly**) called me "a little ball of entropy" because I would enter his immaculate apartment, and, within minutes, everything would be in a state of utter disarray. Who needs to know where their checkbook is? Not this girl!

Moving is the universe's cruel way of reminding me that living a disorganized existence is not sustainable, and should be immediately rectified.

You also have to deal with this strange contradicting desire: on the one hand, you want to obliterate all your worldly possessions; on the other hand, you find yourself oddly justifying why you should keep your most obscure belongings.

Torn between the mindset of Henry David Thoreau and the mindset of a first-class hoarder, you live in a restless state of discontent, each possession simultaneously disgusting you and tempting you to keep it forever. How could you possibly part with your planner from senior year of college?! The memories! While packing, these were real thoughts that passed through my mind as it teetered on the verge of insanity:

"Hmmm...what's the easiest way to pack this stupid blanket? Maybe I'll light it on fire with a blow torch!"

"I don't know what this key does, but I guess I'm moving it" (as I toss into a junk drawer full of probably dried-out sharpies - can't get rid of those! I might become crafty yet.)

"I hate to donate these huge gold dangly earrings...if I want to be Esmerelda one year for Halloween, I'll surly wish I still had them."

"I probably should have thrown away the Walmart liquid eye liner 18 months ago." (toss in trashcan)

"I obviously can't get rid of my mini Bop it! key chain."

"I need to admit myself I'm just never going to be the girl who uses nourishing cuticle oil." (toss in trashcan that is now entirely holding unused bathroom products)

don't worry, I only threw out one Essie nailpolish. The first step is admitting you have a problem....

Don't get me wrong, I did discover some hidden gems while sorting through my piles of useless crap. My nightstand drawer is (apparently) where technology goes to die. Hello Blackberry charger! Also, remember when webcams were separate from computers!?

I didn't.
I also used this drawer (apparently) for important documents. Title of my car! Tax information! Newspaper clippings of my favorite Dear Abby columns! Not my passport, though. That was in my "junk corner" under a broken picture frame. I wish I were joking.

Anyway, we're done! (we = me and Stephen!) And by done, I mean, our apartment looked like this last night:
definitely ready to entertain
No more UHauls, no more dollies, no more broken elevators (don't get me started), no more lifting furniture up 3 flights of stairs.

Let the unpacking begin!

*I'm fully aware there are many things worse than moving - going to the E.R. to get stitches, being diagnosed with a terrible illness, getting in a car accident, etc. But you don't plan on those things. This is something you plan on, months in advance, but is still 100% horrible. It deserves some type of award for being that planned for and that bad.

**Maybe it doesn't sound endearing to you, but I'm going with it.

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