Three weeks to my move, and I’m still packing.

Follow up:

This weekend was a grand adventure through my kitchen, whereupon I discovered that I own far more china, glassware, bakeware and assorted casserole dishes than one person should really ever lay claim to. Many boxes later, I swear I’ve used up half a forest of protective wrapping paper and now have a new stack of boxes to add to my ever growing collection. Soon my suite will look more like a cardboard city for hobos than a home, with boxes reaching up to the ceiling and lining the walls over every corner.

Speaking of corners, mine have become a breeding ground for Dust Bunnies of Unusual Size. I have never claimed to be a fantastic house keeper, but as I begin moving furniture around, I am discovering collections of lint and cat hair that are only a few sparks away from becoming sentient life forms. What’s worse, the cat thinks they are toys, spawned for her entertainment. Know what’s worse than a mutant dust ball? A mutant dust ball soaked in cat spittle and left to dry on the carpet. Ugh.

On the upside, I have recently located a number of long lost items, including lint rollers, a VCR and some terribly important tax documents from 1997 which apparently I felt compelled to bring with me for the last 12 years. The first two items have been packed; the last has found a new home at the bottom of my recycle bin.

Over the last week I’ve also notified most of my utilities I’m moving, only to discover they’ve not yet heard from the former own that he’s moving out… which means my phone, internet and cable might be delayed getting set up. I am beside myself to know that when I finally collapse in exhaustion when this move is done, I will have absolutely nothing to do to unwind until after I find and unpack my books. What really is interesting is the phone issue. It seems that there are laws that protect the former owner from having his phone line disconnected, in case he needs 911 or has an emergency pizza requirement. These laws are great, but they mean that I have to live without a phone for up to several days, depriving me of the same rights. If I think on that too long, I get a headache.

The more I pack, sort and organize, the firmer I am in my resolution that it will be a long time before I go through this ordeal again. Hopefully by the next move, I’ll have figured out a way to pay someone else to do all this work for me, and I can go to my villa for a week and have them call me when it’s done.

A girl can dream.