July 5, 2008. Miles traveled: 0
When moving it always amazes me how unique trinkets, favorite books, and colorful shirts all loose their special light and become just a part of the morass waiting to be moved from one location to another. I always reach a point in the moving process where I look around at all of my beloved things and utter in a deep breathy voice eerily like something from an Omen movie, "Throw it ouuut. Throw it aaaaalllll out!"
No, I'm not ranting on the wanton display of capitalism inherent in the collection of things, and yes, I am thankful to have things to move. I would just like to point out that the late great George Carlin was accurate was in describing unpacked items as "stuff" and packed items as "sh!t" I mean seriously, look at this mess below stuffed into our car. Is it not a proverbial pile of it?
The kick in the butt is that I no longer have any memory where anything has been packed. After packing to sell the house, packing to move the household, and packing to get across country, I have absolutely no idea. In fact a sure way to send me into a irritated snit is to ask "where is …?" Truth be told, I'm really irritated at myself. As an organized person (I am a true Virgo that way) my total amnesia simply floors me. After all, it's my stuff, I packed it, I should know where it. My poor husband, an eternally patient and wise man, has simply stopped asking.
So now packed to the gills with our pile of "I have no idea" we are ready to set out on our cross-country trek to Michigan.
Just don't ask me where anything is.