So I’ve mentioned my unstable living situation a few times now, so it’s no surprise that I’m moving.
Packing doesn’t seem like such a big thing. It’s a vague ‘I hate packing’ thing until you are in it.
It’s not the big things that are painful: Empty contents of wardrobe into a box, there, done.
It’s the millions of little things that make it such a daunting task.
That and the overwhelming urge to do a pre-move cleanout, which has me rifling through cupboards, running to the charity shop, posting things on ebay, and crying over photos of my dead mother punctuated by notes from my dead Aunt.
It is beyond stressful.
I am at the stage now where I am made happy by finding a box that will fit a difficult-to-pack thing. I mean, I am genuinely filled with glee by it.
Apparently this is my life now.
I don’t have time to write this post, but doing things I don’t have time to do is what I do when I don’t want to do a thing I have to do…
Boxes and tape and lots of swearing.
*labels another box 'bed 2'*
Imaginary conversation w movers: WTF lady! You know that room isn't the Tardis, right?
— Ferns (@Ferns__) August 7, 2017
To top it all off, getting internet connected at the new place is likely to take at least a week. I am freaking out. No internet?!! WHAT EVEN IS LIFE WITHOUT THE INTERNET??! I WILL BE KILLING MY OWN FOOD AND TRYING TO COOK IT OVER AN OPEN FIRE LIKE A SAVAGE!