Little Boxes – oh so many of them

My life - in box form

As I write, I’m sitting in my room, mainly because it’s the one place left in my flat that vaguely feels like home. The rest of my place is a giant Tetris game of boxes. Tomorrow at 11.30am the movers will arrive and whisk it all away to our new house.

It’s been terribly hard work – I started like a month and a half ago – but the end is in sight. I tried my best (and succeeded I think) to downsize quite a lot before I even started packing and then more during. Loads of stuff went to a charity or recycling depot. But I still have like 20 boxes piled up in the lounge. One part of me is kind of freaked out by how much stuff I have, and the other part is impressed considering it’s the result of having a home for the past almost five years.

While I was packing boxes this afternoon I was struck by the strangeness of moving. I’ve spent the past year and a half trying to make myself feel completely at home here. And now I’m painstakingly removing every trace that I was ever here.

Tomorrow I will spend most of my time at the new flat unpacking and getting comfy. Then on Wednesday I will be back here with the ghastly rubber gloves on, doing the Cinderella gig. Joy. The part I’m least looking forward to… the frikkin’ windows. For some reason they always end up with shiny streaks all over them. Make the city look like reflections in a funhouse mirror. I feel vaguely sorry for the guy moving in on Friday – but not sorry enough to actually work out the whole newspaper thing.

The next time I write I’ll be in our new spot – most likely still surrounded by boxes, but with a whole future stretching before me. Yeah yeah, it’s the romantic in me. I’ve given up trying to coax it out and have decided it’s better for us all if I just feed it chocolates and schmaltzy movies.

Speaking of chocolates – Operaton Detox is still going well. We’re into the last few days of the first month and it’s getting easier and easier. I must admit though, watching what you eat while you’re moving totally sucks. I keep realizing that I’ve already packed all the stuff I need to make food. Yeah, I have bread for toast tomorrow – but the dratted toaster is sealed up with goodness knows what else somewhere in the makeshift fort in the lounge. As is the kettle, and all the tea bags and mugs mind you.



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