Moving is hard. Disgusting, overwhelming, dust-riddled, hard. There are things to be put IN to boxes. Things to be moved to places. Things to be taken OUT of boxes. And then there are all those things that won't fit in boxes.
Exhausting. My head hurts after writing that paragraph, and I have an urge to crawl into bed and never come out again.
Just packing a box to take to the Goodwill gives me PTSD. And surprisingly, it seems that this is my lot in life these days. That is, boxes. Boxes being packed. Boxes being unpacked. Stuff being moved from one place to another. Sorting. Packing. Moving.
Well, who am I to question? Yesterday, Day 76 of One Thousand Days, I did one of my favorite things: I helped someone else (helping other people is like my bottle of wine - it's soothing) with their boxes of loot. Spur of the moment, I put on my Moving Outfit (which closely resembles my every-other-kind-of-thing-outfit) and helped a besty move her boxes to a new house.
Sigh.
76 down, 924 to go.
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