Moving is a big pain in the ass.
I’m not just talking about the physical aspect of it–lugging refrigerators up and down steps, moving box after box in and out of different rooms, etc. To me, the mental side of it is more aggravating; more importantly, my mind can’t seem to break away from one thing–how in the hell did I get so many small items? Items that seem to go with nothing else that, for a mind like mine, are a bitch to pack. Let me explain.
Picture an empty box. Good. Now imagine how well you could fit items such as books, CDs, or DVDs inside this box. Because DVD cases usually have the same dimensions, it’s easy to utilize all of the space inside the box with them. Same thing with CDs. Books can vary in size, but they have a fairly simple shape like CDs and DVDs do. Because these items fit so well together, you can maximize packing efficiency and minimize pockets of space. Better yet–you can clearly label these boxes with your trusty Sharpie. “Books.” “Movies.” “CDs.” Solid titles, letting you know exactly what you’re getting into when you get ready to lift a box (a box full of hardback novels is going to weigh more than a box of movies or records).
What about those odd items? You know, those items that there’s no reason to have more than one of (it’s possible that there’s no reason to have even one of these items, let alone commit multiple offenses). Imagine your box with all those pockets of empty, unused space. But what else were you supposed to do when all you had to fill the box with was a bottle of vitamins, a small photo album, HDMI cables for your Wii, and a tube of Burt’s Bees Replenishing Lip Balm? I have no problem labeling a box “Miscellaneous,” but the thought process behind carefully structuring a box to maximize its space is different from throwing items into a box at random–so jarringly random that, frankly, I’m surprised my head hasn’t exploded from writing about it.
This little rant could be brought on by the fact that my dad is showing up at 9 AM tomorrow (checks watch to see it’s 10 after 4 in the morning, throws watch across room ’cause he doesn’t have time for that shit). I need to send as much with him as possible to make sure I can fit whatever’s left in my truck when I move home for good; for example, I wouldn’t want to send him back with only a bag of clothes. That’s a waste of gas, and there’s no way that I can fit everything I own into my tiny truck. Better to send him with as much as possible, crash afterward, then leave sometime in the next couple of days. That’s my plan, anyway.
Enough writing. I need to get back to my rushed, haphazard packing. I’ve been working in spurts: I’ll throw a few items of clothing in a trash bag, stick a few items in a box, unplug an item that I want to take home but can’t move until tomorrow, then go to the living room and watch TV for a few minutes. I might notice something that needs cleaning in the kitchen–say, the stove top–so I do that. A Dr. Pepper later, I’m ready to put a few more items of clothing in a trash bag, a few more items in a box. . .maybe not as focused as others would want, but it works for me, and I get a hell of a nap when it’s over and done with. I think it’s time for that Dr. Pepper.