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The movers arrive between 8 and 9 AM on September 7, so I have about eight days. Happily the next four of them are a four-day weekend which I will be wanting to spend barricaded inside my home anyway. (Happy 110th Anniversary, Harley Davidson! Happy Festival of Constant Rumbling and Oh God the Traffic, everyone else!)
Tonight I did 2 episodes of WTNV ("Valentine" and "The Traveler") worth of getting rid of stuff (it's like a 20/10 but Cecil talks to me the whole time and then I go play Candy Crush for a while), plus packing the one box I had available to pack. I wound up with a bit more than two trash bags full of stuff I feel varying levels of guilt about throwing away (I'm at the point in moving where I just give myself permission to throw stuff out rather than find some more mindful way to dispose of it), plus a disassembled IKEA bookcase and a VCR I bought with my very own paper route money in 1996 for the purpose of taping episodes of The X-Files. It's been a great 17 years, VCR, but I'm not moving you to yet another domicile where you'll sit on a closet shelf until it's time to move again.
Saying farewell also to a couple of pairs of shoes that appeared to have grown mold, and the bags the shoes were stored in. Farewell, Skechers platform Mary Janes I wore to college graduation in 2003. You will be missed, in sort of a philosophical sense, but you literally stayed in the bottom of the closet long enough to grow mold.
In related news, I feel vaguely itchy everywhere and I should probably just take some Claritin on general principle.
Anxiety level is now at the (yes, quite possibly deluded), "Huh, I think I've got a handle on this," stage.
Except actually there's a bunch of other stuff I want to say about my anxiety level. ( Cut tagged because. Anxiety. )
Tonight I did 2 episodes of WTNV ("Valentine" and "The Traveler") worth of getting rid of stuff (it's like a 20/10 but Cecil talks to me the whole time and then I go play Candy Crush for a while), plus packing the one box I had available to pack. I wound up with a bit more than two trash bags full of stuff I feel varying levels of guilt about throwing away (I'm at the point in moving where I just give myself permission to throw stuff out rather than find some more mindful way to dispose of it), plus a disassembled IKEA bookcase and a VCR I bought with my very own paper route money in 1996 for the purpose of taping episodes of The X-Files. It's been a great 17 years, VCR, but I'm not moving you to yet another domicile where you'll sit on a closet shelf until it's time to move again.
Saying farewell also to a couple of pairs of shoes that appeared to have grown mold, and the bags the shoes were stored in. Farewell, Skechers platform Mary Janes I wore to college graduation in 2003. You will be missed, in sort of a philosophical sense, but you literally stayed in the bottom of the closet long enough to grow mold.
In related news, I feel vaguely itchy everywhere and I should probably just take some Claritin on general principle.
Anxiety level is now at the (yes, quite possibly deluded), "Huh, I think I've got a handle on this," stage.
Except actually there's a bunch of other stuff I want to say about my anxiety level. ( Cut tagged because. Anxiety. )