Piles of stuff.
Moving. Not fun.
Dan and I have been holed up in our tiny apartment on the Upper West Side for the last two days, packing all of our belongings into $3 boxes from Staples. Who knew cardboard boxes were so expensive? And who knew that we would need so many? We ended up making four trips to the office retailer because we kept underestimating how much stuff we really have.
Where did all this stuff come from? We have only lived here for two years and five months. Why do we have three spare blankets and a sleeping bag? Why are our drawers filled with things we cannot throw out but never use? I had forgotten that I owned many of these things, including the Afro Ken light-up display my sister had given me. It was under my bed covered in dust. Sorry Annette.
Dan and I have different packing styles. My style is to throw out the obvious junk, but pack everything. It doesn't have to be perfectly neat and orderly. We will deal with it later. Dan is a careful packer. And while he does get things done, he also tries to edit at the same time, which means that he takes forever. And which means I have to hear him complain how many things I have. He is obsessed with downgrading my cds.
"You have too many!" he says, pointing out the ones he doesn't like, but suit me just fine.
"What about these?" I said, kicking one of the six boxes of vinyl sitting on the floor. He makes faces at me. I just make them back. I am looking really ugly right now. I got a sty in my eye the day after Christmas that won't go away. First it was just a regular old sty on the top of my eyelid and then when it almost got better I got another one in the same eye on my bottom lid which makes my eye red and the area around it all puffy. It's the worst one I have ever had. So when Dan makes me mad, I take off my glasses and shove my ugly eye in his face. That'll show him.
What an eyesore!
As I write this, we are about 85 percent finished, the boxes and plastic bags are crowding us out of our space. Dan hates the mess, but sometimes things have to get messy before they get better again. Not only a philosophy of moving, but one of my philosophies of life. We hope to get out of here tonight for some fun because we've been working so hard and there is no fun sitting around a room of boxes. It'll be our last day as residents of the Upper West Side.
Tomorrow we're moving on...
Grandmaster packer Dan.
