From now until next week, I’m packing every day for our move back to Tennessee. To date, in my 32 years, I’ve moved more than a dozen times (that is, if you start from the very beginning of my childhood and include moving to college, moving back from college, moving in with Chuck after getting married, and so on). I’ve lived in ten cities between six states and two countries. Granted, I had little to do with the earliest moves from Army base to Army base, but by the time I was in grade school I remember being required to sort through my things, allocate what goes and what stays, and be able to situate my own room while my parents tackled the rest of the house. To my credit is one round of organization after another.
You’d think I’d be a pro at this by now. Though I’m still organized (to a fault, some would say), I’m very overwhelmed. Since when did I acquire (or should I say require) so much stuff? I’m only a third of the way through this house and I’ve already reached the “toss it” phase. There’s a corner of the garage designated for Goodwill drop-offs. The pile is growing by the room.
The exhaustion of moving has chipped away at my energy level and my mood. I’m ready to be done and we’ve only just begun, which means the help I’ve received so far is appreciated. Thank you for the donated boxes and the donated manual labor.
(Thank you, Michele, for this jump start on the kitchen.)