Moving' & shakin'

There's a thing about moving that I'm really not thrilled about. It's a thing that's neccessary in order to actually facilitate the act of moving. But I still loathe it. It makes me tense. It makes me feel scattered. It's not easy. This thing is called packing.

Oh, the dreaded packing. I'm fully aware that the hatred is rooted in the proof of just how disorganized I am. I know where everything is, but it's a mess. I don't like living in a mess. The problem is that I started to travel for work pretty frequently and that first time I came back from a long trip the suitcase got dumped out late at night when I got home from the airport and that was the start of the long downward spiral of mess. I had to leave 2 days later for another trip and ended up doing the same thing when I returned from that one. So the pile went from small to not small quickly. Unfortunately I did laundry and then had to run out the door and didn't put that laundry away. The pile grew again. It was really a bad pattern from there on out. Now I have to sort through everything and in the interest of space (we're driving a mini van down to Miami to move me, so I don't have loads of room to take every last thing I own) I need to get rid of things that I don't want and not feel bad about paring down.

Plus, I don't want to overwhelm the man when I get there. He asked me to move in with him, if I take all my crap there's a chance I'll make him feel trapped in his own house. He chose to live with me and I see that as an honor, and the last thing I'd want to do is make him feel like his space isn't his space. I want to harmonize with him in that house and all my junk won't help. So I purge. Purging is good, as long as you don't have an eating disorder. Oh boy, that wasn't funny.