Monday, 19 May 2008
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The Move. Phase Uno.
The problem with any move isn't so much choosing the location, or finding the job, or even (for me) finding the residence...the difficulty lies in transporting junk. Phase Uno of my move is a long, woeful tale of junk. Okay, not all that long. Probably not all that woeful, either. But it is a tale of junk.
The tale begins two and a half years ago, with my first move. This was a rather drastic move for me...I was moving out of my parents' house, striking out on my own for the first time. My little car was full of my stuff, which included a three-drawer nightstand, clothes, a microwave, and the all-important coffee pot. I moved into a basement apartment which I shared with two other girls who had already been living there. It was furnished, the kitchen was stocked...I didn't need any more than I had, and for the six months that I lived there, I bought a few things here and there but didn't really acquire anything.
Move #2: Across town. The time came to move from the basement into a real house. It was a beautiful little place that I still love to this day. Thing is, I still didn't really have anything. It took me maybe three trips in my car to get my stuff and new odds and ends over to the new place. I was again going to be living with someone, but we didn't have a kitchen table. Or beds. Or couches. Or...anything. So, we bought them. The couches we inherited, and they're going to be passed along to continue their legacy as Laramie College Couches. The rest of the stuff, though, falls under the category of Emily's Stuff That She Now Needs To Move Across The State. Or, more commonly known as ESTSNNTMATS.
Move #3: Across town. Again. Again, living with someone. She, however, didn't have anything, and I did. So, ESTSNNTMATS fit right in to the apartment without any trouble. The difference was...it took three trucks to move my big stuff and three trips to move my clothes and odds and ends over.
Are you seeing the problem here? If not, let me spell it out. Actually, you see the problem, I just like making sarcastic remarks, which is why I'm spelling it out. ESTSNNTMATS is either going to have to grow wings to get to their new home (Across The State), or I'm going to have to get rid of some junk.
So far, most of my big things have been adopted by people who I'm sure will love them and care for them. However, the fact remains that I have two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen full of stuff. And I have to get it Across The State.
Now, please, let me clarify what junk is exactly. Junk is not ceramic angels. Junk is not glass elephants. Junk is not decorative stones. Junk is cast iron skillets. (Which I am not...repeat...not parting with) Junk is dinner plates. Junk is bathroom towels. Good grief, Charlie Brown. In one sense, its a consolation that my junk isn't actual junk, just stuff that you need to, you know, live. In another sense, though...
how...
did...
I...
get...
this...
much...
junk?
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