I’ve been packing for my upcoming move across town for a week and a half, including 6 hours this morning (6 more hours after this short break and I get to stop!).
I thought I’d gotten rid of a lot of stuff (half my books) before, but I’ve gotten rid of tons of crap this week. Of course, it doesn’t seem to be making a difference when I look at the boxes, but then, it never does.
Some things I’m discovering in the process–
a. it is impossible to follow physical therapist instructions and move at the same time. Technically, I’m not supposed to lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk (this little rule gets broken almost every day I go to class). In theory, I’m not supposed to have to bend down or to stretch up to retrieve anything–I have yet how to figure out how to live my life with everything at counter level, though. Although my back hurts every day, it’s screaming at me about these rules right now, though its voice is muffled by necessity.
b. everything in my house has decided to break–nothing major, just a few things I have no idea how to take care of and all at once and irritating.
c. I have a bunch of stuff that I can’t really explain. Why would I have a bottle of dry vermouth and a bottle of sweet vermouth when I don’t drink anything that needs either?
d. I have trouble getting rid of potentially useful stuff. I’m usually (99% of the time) too lazy to take my eye makeup off and thus have three full bottles of eye makeup remover. I should really throw them all out, but I could possibly use them all up by the time I’m dead. Maybe. So I saved the most full bottle and threw out the other two.
Sigh.
