by Tonia
"Home may be where the heart is but don’t ask me which box it’s
in.” – me
I’m relocating to Santa Fe in a few weeks. Moving was such great idea ….. until
I started packing. Holy Hoarder! For every one box I pack, 3 more boxes worth of
crap appear. My moving date is approaching faster than a speeding
bullet and there’s no Superman here to save me from this cardboard crisis. I guess I’m going
to have to quickly make a LOT of new friends before my moving date (preferably really buff ones from a gym). Then I can have a packing party. I'll serve
alcohol but it will have to be BYC (Bring Your Own Cups) because I can’t find
mine.
I tried to get rid of some of this crap at a Yard Sale a few weeks ago but every time a friend dropped by to see how I
was doing, I had to grab an item she had given me and hide it. I ended up with
a huge pile of gifted crap in my shed. People can be so touchy, ya know?
A few years ago I had a house fire and lost most
of my possessions. Frankly, that sounds pretty damn good about now. Maybe when I get just a
little more tired of packing I’ll convince myself that I really don’t like the
rest of my things and just leave them.
The other day I was packing up some of the crap and heard my cell phone ring from inside a box. It took me 30 minutes to figure
out WHICH box because ….. of course ….. it quit ringing after a few seconds. And god only knows where I’ve packed the dog’s leash. I had to improvise with packing
tape wrapped around his collar…..even made myself a cute little handle. I think I’m developing symptoms of Relocation Psychosis (RP – not RIP…..yet): auditory hallucinations of popping bubble wrap; nightmares of boxes climbing in the windows to entrap me; complete disorganization; difficulty staying on task. Is there medicine for this?
For your next girlfriends’ get-together……well,
crap, I have no ideas. I’m too busy trying to stay away from the creepy boxes trying to get me........
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