I’m getting ready to move again, and am currently in the process of boxing up my things, slowly building my very own Wailing Wall right here in the living room. It’s been less than three years since last time I went through this ordeal, and let me tell you, it doesn’t really get better with more practice.
Once you’ve actually moved, it’s OK. Unpacking is never quite as exhausting as packing, because you’re, like, building your new life. That’s some pretty exciting shit, even if putting the cutlery in the correct drawer isn’t the epitome of rad.
But those weeks leading up to it. Oh, man. The logistics of it all. The horror. There’s just … all this stuff. Everywhere. Stuff you forgot you had, stuff you never knew you had, stuff that others forgot or left behind, stuff that seemingly appears out of nowhere (or at least from whichever dimension your socks disappear to) … the two common threads connecting the stuff being 1) that all of it has to be tagged and bagged, and 2) it rather starkly highlights your consumerist existence. It’s all rather exhausting.
Still, in the end it’ll all be worth it. Bigger, brighter and better digs to live and grow older, if not old. New faces. New places. And lots more room … for more stuff.