Moving?

It’s time to move again. Lots of folks I know are moving, weeks or months after we plan to, and unlike us, they already make reference to stuff like packing.

Us, we thought about buying some boxes over the weekend, and then decided that there wasn’t enough room in the trunk.

We’ve done the math, and a lack of boxes will help us stave off what we’re doomed to us just a little bit longer. So nope, no boxes, not yet.

“But surely you are at least making lists,” said Manuel, my friend who will move a full month after we do. He is also my friend who historically helps me move, so I don’t know what he’s doing moving from another state to another state with nary a thought for my well-being, aside from the judgmental lists question he came up with. He should know by now that I need him to, to, to do whatever it is he does to complete the moving task when I fall into a sobbing pile in the middle of the living room floor after having blindfolded myself to escape the horror.

Maybe he can just lend me his lists, and then I will know what to do.

I shouldn’t be THAT bad off. Somehow, fate arranged that my sister and I would both marry very orderly men with German heritage. It might be a scientific law allowing that any force of disorganization shall meet a mate who will attempt to cancel out her efforts to bubble up into total chaos. Anyhow when Matthew and I joined households, it was rough going there for a little bit. I remember another friend helping to move my bed out from my studio, and looking at a collection of dust-caked items that had been living under there when we moved it, muttering in response “Matthew is a very good man.”

While I would prefer not to correlate what one finds under their bed with their level of goodness, I will allow that Matthew is a good man, and he is very good at managing his objects, and maybe I would be too if all I needed to own to be happy was 12 perfect j-crew shirts and 8 pairs of pants that always fit because I was lithe by design and did not faced challenges such as carrying around a 48 lb baby on the inside, every now and again.

But maybe that is not the problem, and my relationship to things is indeed a character flaw, I don’t know.

When we managed to get all of our stuff into one apartment, I saw it as phenomenal progress. Look! Our glass is half full! And our apartment is wholly full! In my estimation it was time for a cocktail, or a picnic, or a read a really good novel: anything but more moving-in associated tasks. But some people are infected affected more than others by the state of their environment, and M was getting an infection looking at all that was left to be done.

“We’re not even though the first layer of organization,” he moaned. My German brother-in-law really likes that quote.

I have a lot more to say on the topic, since we are buying a home for the first time and all of that, and we have this adrenaline rush because we might not be able to close in time for the new tenants to move in here — exciting! —  but instead I am going to take pictures of all of our things and try to give them away on the Internet, so they can be someone else’s damn problem.

If you want anything, let me know, but you are going to have to come and pick it up, because I am also bad at mailing things.