Unpacking and Packing

"Moving is the worst. You have to touch everything you own, and make a decision about it." - my (very wise) friend Doreen

A friend of mine recently shared with me that she underwent her own crisis several years ago. She said up until then, she thought that her stuff - her baggage, her issues, whatever you want to call it - were all packed up in boxes and locked neatly in a room somewhere. Then she had this crisis, and realized that no, these boxes were actually stacked high on a palette and she was dragging that palette behind her. She went to therapy and one by one, unpacked as many of those boxes as she could.

As I write this, I'm procrastinating the final stages of packing a house's worth of stuff to move to a different country and into a fourth-floor walkup. That last part is key: The thought of carrying everything you own up four narrow flights of stairs is great incentive to own less stuff.

To that end, last Monday I had six full garbage bags and three overflowing recycling bins on the curb for pickup. This morning, a thrift store came to pick up about about six boxes of donation items, plus a bunch of furniture (assorted chairs and tables) (why did we even have "assorted chairs and tables"?). There are at least two more garbage bags going out tonight, and one of the recycling bins is already full.

At the same time I'm doing this physical packing, I'm trying to unpack a bunch of psychic boxes. Normally unpacking is way more fun than packing, but this kind of unpacking is *hard*. It turns out that I didn't make conscious decisions about what to put in these psychic boxes, and now as I unpack them, I have to decide what I really want.

The thing I'm realizing is, there will always be a box labeled Misc., and the only way to find out what's in it will be to unpack it and make decisions about what to do with the stuff. Some of it will probably end up back in the same box, or in another box named Misc. with some other stuff, and in that context maybe it will look different, and the next time I look at it maybe I'll make a different decision about what to do with it. And while it's inevitable that I'll keep adding stuff to these boxes, hopefully I'll do it more deliberately, and eventually I'll end up with fewer of the Misc. boxes.

It might help if I start to think of life as a fourth-floor walkup.

In other news, I'm reworking my last post (the one about relationships that's no longer here, but Google can probably still find it somewhere). It didn't make sense. I wrote it as a response to a conversation, not really deliberately, and if any of you actually understood any of it, you were probably like, um, yeah, no duh (because it was about projecting and is in every relationship book ever written).

The real point of that post was meant to be this. My friend D has a chalkboard in her kitchen, with a TODO list on it. I noticed the other day that under "haircut" is written "rel'ship". I asked her what that was about, and she said, "Oh, that's to remind us us to work on our relationship."

"That's amazing!" I said. "I love that you're conscious about it."

She laughed. "Well, yeah, but it's under 'haircut'."

Fair enough. Getting a haircut is easy.



(Misc. box photo compliments of Mike; box may or may not contain: a shower curtain, one shoe, a fork, half a bottle of wine, his peewee hockey championship jacket, some computer parts, a pillow, and his car keys.)

1000 Awesome Things

I'm packing, which you know from many previous posts I love more than anything, if by "love" you mean "hate."

Today's internet procrastination is brought to you by a site called 1000 Awesome Things, that you should go look at. Then come back here tomorrow for updates, and also an awesome graphic (of which I am quite proud).

T-Minus 14 Hours

Our flight leaves tonight at 10. Our stuff is in a state of loosely controlled chaos. The only thing I can't find is the bra without underwire that I bought specifically for traveling. It's plaguing my mind, of course.

A Supposedly Fun Thing

Last Sunday, following two nights of no-holds-barred alcohol consumption that included Ken and our friend Aaron consuming a 1.5L bottle of White Zinfandel (...for real), we managed to clean out the remaining piles of crap from our apartment and load a bike, several boxes full of the aforementioned crap, an angry cat (complete with litter box!) and two tired, hungover people into a rented Chevy Impala for a roadtrip to Canada.

We (read: I) had originally set a goal for 8 a.m. departure because the drive is 10 hours and our unemployed selves can't afford a fancy motel. However, after another trip to storage, a stop at IHOP to stave off our collective increasingly low blood sugar, and various drop-offs in Brooklyn, we finally hit the road at 5:30 p.m., if by "hit the road" you mean "sat in standstill traffic waiting to enter the Holland Tunnel". At first I was optimistic: As we finally settled into a comfortable speed on the interstate, I suggested that maybe we could drive straight through.

About an hour later we were both done, and we spent the night in a Super 8 Motel in Binghamton. The Super 8 Motel very responsibly keeps the heat off in unused rooms. Given that the outside temperature was around 3F (-16C) and we could see our breath in the room, we cranked the heat. Before we turned in Ken lowered the heat so we wouldn't sweat ourselves out of the room in the middle of the night, but apparently it wasn't quite low enough because at 3 a.m. I had to get up to throw water on the rocks.

During the drive Monday Memphis was calm enough to ride on my lap. The side effect of her being uncontained was a lot of cat hair in the car. Everywhere. By the time we crossed into Canada my left eye was swollen shut and I could only hope that the border guard wouldn't refuse me entry because of suspected pinkeye or because he thought I was a pirate.

We finally arrived in Waterloo about 3 p.m. on Monday. Memphis has been... well, she's been a total bitch since we got here. I get that she isn't thrilled about the dogs (who, incidentally, are about half her size) but enough with the leaky tire routine! I'm sure she'll adjust, and her M.O. this week of waking us up at 5 every morning has made it just a little easier to bid her adios for the year.

Up next: Ken learns Canadian! We kiss babies! Dinner at Swiss Chalet!

Internet > Packing

As the history books will show us, more packing means more blogging! [Ref: August 2007, February 2008.]

There's a lot more purging happening this time around, and in the process I've unearthed some choice bits, like this mixtape outline I made circa 1997:


ANGST MUCH?

Speaking of mixtapes, I also found one that Dos made for me around the same time, for my Route 66 roadtrip. It contains such classics as "Barbie Girl" by Aqua ("come on Barbie let's go party") and "Bandito" by The Refreshments ("Everybody knows/ that the world is full of stupid people") and is appropriately entitled, "Super Funky Driving Tape."

Eat A Cookie

Eating a cookie is my response to all dilemmas this week. For example:

Dilemma! What should I do with my GameCube that hasn't been played since 2003?
Answer: Eat a cookie!

Dilemma! Someone offered me $20 more for a bookcase I'd listed on Craigslist AFTER I promised it to someone else.
Answer: Eat a cookie!

Dilemma! The TEFL school I applied to in BsAs hasn't written me back.
Answer: Eat a cookie!

Dilemma! The cookie I'm eating isn't even that good, but I keep eating it.
Answer: Eat it anyway!

By the time we get to South America I'm going to weigh 400lbs.

Always On My Mind

There are a number of things that I've been thinking about way too much in the last few days.

1. The book Wife of the Chef by Courtney Febbroriello, which has lived up on my bookshelf beside myriad other chef-wannabe books including Michael Ruhlman's The Making of a Chef and The Soul of a Chef. Ruhlman's books are engaging and inspirational and I expect I'll read them again. Febbroriello's... not so much. And yet, YET, that book has lived on my bookshelf for years, as I tote it around from apartment to apartment because in my mind it has become part of the set. Last weekend I even packed it into a box of books to store, along with biographies of Julia Child and Jacques Pépin, because it "goes" with those books. Since then I keep thinking about it how it isn't that good and how I probably won't read it and why am I keeping it, again?

I'm putting it the donate pile.

2. My clothes. Do I really need that new sweater from the Gap? How much stuff should I bring to Argentina? Will I buy stuff there? What if I bring the wrong stuff and I don't look cool and as a result I don't make any friends and I just sit around our flat watching telenovelas and eating dulce de leche out of the jar?

Eff it, I'll keep the sweater.

Also on the subject of my wardrobe, after last week's careful curation we took a couple of boxes to Beacon's Closet this weekend in the hopes that we'd be able to get a few bucks for our castoffs. When we returned, we were informed that they couldn't buy ANY of our clothes because they fell into some grey area, which I suspect is somewhere between "good" and "Goodwill". Bitches.

3. Memphis, with whom I am so in love that I had her tiny face emblazoned on my new credit card: I'm going to miss that beast.

4. Oh my god in less than a month I'll be living in Argentina.

99 Boxes of Clothes on the Floor

Tonight Brianna came over to help me sort clothes.

s/help/drink wine and watch/g

OK, that isn't entirely true -- she was also tasked with taking a hard line on any item of clothing on which I was wavering. Our mission was to end up with 4 piles: Keep and take, keep and store, donate, sell*. Guys, I have a lot of clothes, especially considering that I've moved 3 times in the past 2 years and each time I've taken bags - plural! - to Goodwill. Based on the size of the piles we built, I only wear about 1/4 of the clothes I own. And based on the items in the donate and sell piles, I should never, ever buy anything from the J.Crew Final Sale.

Counts so far: 2 boxes to take to Beacon's Closet (to sell, hopefully), 3 boxes and a bag for Goodwill, and 1 box each to take and store.

*Beacon's Closet prices your items and gives you either 35% of their asking price in cash, or 55% as store credit. Some of this stuff is brand new (with tags still on it - I KNOW, don't judge me) so I'm hoping to get a little something for it.