Have I told you how much I dislike moving?
It’s not that I don’t like settling in to a new place, that’s the exciting bit. It’s the packing and the unpacking, and the constant clutter and tripping over boxes that goes on for weeks that really gets me. It’s the boxes and bags with things that just don’t belong in any specific place, the homeless in a home. I particularly don’t like those. They’re almost impossible to get rid of. You know the ones, the ones that got packed the very last with small bits and pieces from all over the house, the ones with all that stuff from that drawer full of all kinds of things, the one you just kept stuffing things into that you didn’t know where else to put or that didn’t get packed with the rest of the things from that “area”. Those. They drive me crazy.
Then there’s reorganising and re-hanging all your clothes. The new wardrobe smaller than the one you used to have. So many clothes that don’t fit anymore, but you can’t bring yourself to throw them all away because maybe, just maybe one day you might be able to squeeze back into that amazing dress you bought and had altered to fit perfectly just before you got pregnant and rose like a dough. Before your lungs expanded to be able to take in more oxygen for your growing peanut, before your hips got wider and your bum decided to migrate south. That dress. The one that taunts you because you love it so.
I did good this time, I threw out three garbage bags full of gems. Dresses, oh so many dresses, just gone, out of my life forever. And shoes, a garbage bag full of shoes. My mum would be proud.
Then there’s all the artworks, gently wrapped and stacked on tables and shelves. Just waiting to be hung, but they’ll have to keep waiting because as a renter you have to apply for every hook and nail you want to put in, for every tiny alteration you may make there has to be a negotiation and a promise to fork out the cash if you ever so slightly stray from the agreed path. So they sit there, taking up space for all those other things that live on shelves and tables, who then have to find themselves other temporary places. And so it snowballs creating an unsightly and mind-boggling mess.
And why is there never any storage space? Don’t all people have stuff to store? Who are these minimalists who don’t need these things? For the love of sanity, make more storage space! Then perhaps I could hide those damn boxes…
There’s the back and forth from the old house to the new house. Oh we forgot this and that, and where is this thing? Have you seen my, I can’t find my… Is it clean? What needs to be done? Why is this over here? How did that break? What do you mean the cleaners don’t clean blinds?
Then there’s the little boy who discovers that climbing boxes is a great way to get attention and to fall down, again and again. There’s so much to discover! Look at this box, it’s not closed, oh it’s full of washing things and other poisonous stuff that mummy and daddy have temporarily forgot that they put somewhere he might climb and get to. Good thing he likes to show off when he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. Then climbing and getting forbidden stuff becomes old, but no one really has any time to play or do anything fun because there are more boxes to move, more packing and unpacking. Better throw a tantrum to get some proper attention. And then nighttime arrives and finally there is time to be close.
Moving is sort of a gamble isn’t it? You see a house, you think “yeah, this is the one. I like this one.” Then you apply and get it and whoopdedo, right? But then comes all the things you didn’t see when you looked at it and couldn’t know before you lived there. Like the shelves not having vinyl on them or that the vinyl is really old and peeling, because you didn’t have time to open every cupboard and play house detective. Or that the drawers were full of dust, or that the floor is really cold, or that the washing machine has live outside on the patio.
Don’t get me wrong, I really love our new house even with all those bits I didn’t know and that may not be ideal. I just don’t like the process of moving. It takes too long and those boxes are driving me crazy.
Just give me a few more days to get over myself… and those boxes, and I’ll show you our new house. Right now I just need to put my face in a glass of wine (or two) and see if ignoring said boxes will make them go away.