Since, oh, about October 2017, it seems boxes have been a reoccurring theme in my life. Once our offer was accepted on a house, I began packing. Figuring we had 33 years of accumulated ‘stuff’, I needed a lot of time.
Initially we had a closing date of three months out. I thought that was plenty of time to pack. The closing was delayed another three months. Surely six months was plenty of time to purge and pack. Right? Okay, stop laughing.
In spite of the chaos, we did manage to pack 80% of the stuff and get it to the new house when we moved in. Luckily my daughter and son in-law aren’t putting the remaining items out on the lawn so that takes some pressure off.
On the other end, here at the new place, I figured it would take maybe a couple of days to unpack. How tough could it be to take things out of boxes and put them away? Yeah… we’re here a month and there are still boxes left to unpack.
It gets better. Well, no, it really doesn’t. Now there’s a third box issue that I didn’t even think about. It wasn’t just packing and then unpacking. There was still the box disposal issue. I couldn’t put out all those boxes at once for the recycling crew pick up. They’d need an entire truck just for me.
The shed is full of boxes as I slowly put out stacks. You’d think after 4 weeks, it would look like the pile is decreasing. You’d be wrong. New items come in boxes. I figure we’re adding two boxes for every four we get rid of. I’ll consider myself lucky if we get them all out of here by July.
I have decided I don’t ever want to move again. Or see another box.