So...we're moving tomorrow. Well, sort of. The "Packers" are coming tomorrow, which basically means that I need to get off my ass and pack up anything I don't want some random person touching, putting in 14 pieces of paper and precariously throwing into a large cardboard box most likely accompanied by the trash from my bathroom. This is not a joke - that literally happened to me the last time... bathroom trash, still inside the can, inside a box next to my unused toilet tissue. Needless to say, that Charmin for sure became trash itself on the other end.
Here's the thing - Packers are both a blessing and a curse. Knowing someone is going to pack your house simply means that you do absolutely NOTHING until they show up. We have known we were moving for 8 weeks - I have packed two boxes. Two. And they are Spanx/underwear and a boatload of lingerie that I cannot understand how I ever friggen fit in, because I swear all the pieces would be more useful to me as dental floss and mirror cleaners than anything at this point. Regardless, these are two sets of items that only two people are allowed to handle - myself and Hubs - and let's be honest - he's only really getting his hands on my Spanx if doing laundry - because lord knows it takes 5 minutes to get out of those fuckers, so you gotta plan ahead.
Ok, I lied. I have packed four boxes. I also packed all the stuff in my nightstand, and the crap under my sink. I can only imagine how many tampons and feminine products these people have seen, but they don't need to see mine.
But here's why it is a curse - what isn't happening is me going through my stuff and throwing it away because that is a better alternative than putting it in a box. So now, once again, a stranger is going to load all my crap into a box, and ship it back across the country where I first accumulated it in the first place. It's the curse of my own shit!
This being said, my friend OnPoint moves houses and cities like I move jobs - every couple of years - and I am pretty sure she doesn't have packers every time - but she stills has a bunch of shit, so maybe it's just the emotional connection we have with our shit that keeps it moving back and forth. I
Foul mouthed, outspoken and pretty much an eternal realist.