“nothing makes you feel like more of a hoarder than packing all of your stuff to move.” -john mussack

I couldn’t have said it better myself. Its a good thing I haven’t had more than one day off in a row because everything would be packed. As it is the boxes are stacked to the ceiling and they’re scattered all through the apartment. No room is safe. some boxes are still flattened as I don’t know what to pack in them to best maximize the space inside. So far I’ve packed every box as if I’m going to drop it down the stairs, as I’m bound to do with at least one of them. All the glassware I’ve packed in thick newspaper, then put in a heavily crumpled newspaper-lined box, then filled in all the gaps between box walls and precious treasures with more shockproof newspaper. All of my picture frames – especially the big ones – I wrapped in newspaper as well to avoid crushing and breaking and eventual damage to the actual framed works. I am telling you things happen to me. My mother gave all this newspaper to me because they were piling up in her kitchen. And I needed free foolproofing. Also, the bottom of each box is triple taped shut in the event of improper adhesion.
I got most of the boys’ toys packed up. I store most of them in plastic bins anyway. I have one for play-doh, one for legos that’s about to overflow, one for car stuff and one last one for action figures. Any parent out there though knows that no way do all those playthings stay organized like that. But as long as most things get put away, I’m happy.
Its a little weird to look around the apartment now. Everything I did to make it home – whether it was for the sake of convenience or the sake of aesthetics – has been jumbled around or stored away. Its amazing how much my peace of mind rested on the identity and the memories of this place. Being in between homes, so to speak, is like being in between lives. I’m still so nervous about the move and I keep reaching for things where they’re “supposed to be” and they aren’t there. A low grade of panic shocks me and I consider that maybe the system I have here in the apartment is just fine and there’s no need to try to improve it. Only recently has it occured to me that maybe things will be better in the house. It almost feels like the floor has been yanked out from under me.
Coupled with the faux anxiety of my “missing things” is the tragic say-it-ain’t-so I Thought I Was Different fact that I have so much stuff. Granted, I’ve been “on my own” ie liberated from my parents’ household long enough that I’m not allowed to say “on my own” any longer. But I felt like I was always good at going through my things and donating what I honestly don’t use anymore. That way, when it came time to move I wouldn’t be overwhelmed by belongings. Boy did I underestimate what a task this would be. Anything nonessential I’ve packed makes me feel like, well, a hoarder. There are boxes in the hallway, stacked up in the kitchen, piled high in my bedroom. Flattened against walls, silently awaiting bathroom paraphanalia, hiding out in my trunk. I have room for all the extras and I do use them at some point during the year (all the quilts are packed!). Somehow I can’t help feeling like I have too much while others have so little. And I have to wonder just how important belongings really are. Perhaps that will be a lesson to me in the next month or so. Especially since the timing with the move and the weather will be a hot hot summer month.

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About Renee

Native to Tucson and a mother of two! Been practicing yoga for over 6 years and making art for most of my life. I want to help people learn to communicate with themselves and others. View all posts by Renee

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