I should feel pretty accomplished today, but moving doesn’t feel like an accomplishment until the last cardboard box is empty. And considering that this is the current state of the union, I can’t feel done yet.
And that’s even after getting the majority of my clothes put away (and storing a few things in the guest room temporarily). I told myself that I could open up the boxes with my books in them if I put my clothes away. So I put most of the clothes away and opened up all the boxes because in the short span of a few days, I’d promptly forgotten what each one had in it.
It’s 10:00, and I woke up at 7:30 and drove about 500 miles today, about 150 of which I took the wheel. I moved a whole bunch of things and vacuumed and cleaned out a fridge before we left. When we got home, I moved everything in and up the stairs to my room. Much effort exerted. Yet I just wanted to put my books on my shelf before I went to bed. It needs to be reorganized – by genre, I think. But for now the books are having interesting conversation. When else can C.S. Lewis and Garrison Keillor sit next to each other? Or Willa Cather and Kant? St. Augustine and Paula Danziger? You get the picture. Turn this into a seating chart, and we’ve got one strange event about to unfold.
Anyway, I’ll make book organization my reward for when I finish unpacking. Ugh. This is the time of year where I again ask myself why I have so much stuff. And where yet again I donate and sell and pare down, feeling only slightly relieved because there’s a lot left. I’ve got a stack of clothes ready to go to Goodwill already. Maybe I’ll go through my closet at some point and find still more remnants of childhood that aren’t significant enough to keep. You know, like the dried-out playdough or broken crayons that somehow made it through the last round of purging.
Here’s hoping that I won’t still be talking about doing this in a week. Motivation, don’t leave me now!