My life in boxes

The "living area"

When I started taking things off the walls and putting some incidental stuff in boxes 3 or 4 weeks ago, I thought, "Eh, maybe it's a little early to start this, but let's take it nice and steady."  Now I'm incredibly thankful that I started packing when I did!  Almost everything is packed snugly in a temporary cardboard home, ready for a long journey to our new apartment in San Mateo.  As the number of boxes has steadily increased I'm starting to feel as though I'm in a life-sized game of Tetris.  Not only is it a test of whatever spacial reasoning skills I possess to get everything puzzled into a box, but now it's a matter of maneuvering through the boxes to still have some sort of walkable pathway for Zeke and I.  And speaking of the moosh-man, he is less than thrilled with all the change going on.  When I brought a large wardrobe box in yesterday I leaned it against the couch as I peeked outside to check the mail.  Zeke came over, the box slid down, startled him, and he bolted.  Out the front door.  Thankfully, I was right there and tackled him on the porch before he could continue God only know how far - very possibly into the busy street - and I shoved him back inside, both of us a little shaky after the whole stupid incident.  Everything's just a little more exciting nowadays...

Zeke checking out the boxes.

There's a bedroom somewhere in here.

While most things are tagging along for a new life on the west coast, some things are finding new homes here on the east coast.  I've been stretching my capacity of letting go:  There was a good chunk of stuff that didn't make it past the first cut and went to Goodwill right away.  But there was still an emotional attachment to many things and I was reluctant to part them with at first.  I tried bringing certain items to more prominent places to entice me to use them, but as time told, I didn't.  So, now, off to the donation centers with many, many more things.  And it's good really.  Not only is it practical because "spacious" isn't a word that immediately comes to mind for the new apt, but I'm starting to feel like it's healthy, too.  I don't need the things to keep the memories.  Sure, most of the stuff is still "nice" and there's nothing wrong with it - if we were moving to a luxurious house in the hills it wouldn't be much of an issue - but still, it begs the question, "Why keep it?"  Am I using it?  Have I used it in recent memory?  Or, more telling, did I even remember I owned it until I laid eyed on it again?  More frequently than I originally thought, the answer to those questions led me to put one more thing on the donation pile.  It's liberating in a way. 

Zeke expresses his displeasure with the new surroundings.

I only have to live surrounded by cardboard for just over a week and then it's on to my nomadic existence between move-out day and WEDDING WEEK!  Squeeeeeee!  While having my life compartmentalized in boxes and living surrounded by said boxes isn't ideal, (My end table is packed up and that box is now serving as end table stand in.) it's certainly a small thing to endure in the scheme of things.  I consider it character building.  Or something like that.  It's certainly keeping my life interesting to say the least.