like a kitten in a tree, if you will

Server move: pending. I probably could have made some progress today if I wasn’t so busy fruitlessly searching for a single slim manila folder which is theoretically located in one of the many unpacked boxes in our living room. (See below.)

Home move: finished! All that remains is…everything else. There are boxes. Lots of boxes. I have noticed that my emotional stability varies inversely with the number of boxes in any given room. Just because I’ve moved roughly once a year since I was born (some years we moved more than once, so I feel I can average it out) doesn’t mean I like it! In fact, I have what might be considered a moving aversion. A relocation phobia, if you will. It’s all good and fine to find a spanky new place – I am all about the obsessive searching of Craigslist for a dwelling which will more accurately reflect my Id – but once the reality of moving sets in I become increasingly useless.

Once we reach the unpacking phase, I’m practically catatonic. You’d think I’d want to unpack, to put things away and not be faced with mountains of cardboard, and you’d be right. Wanting to unpack and being able to unpack are two different things, though. I open a box, glance inside, flutter my hands around it a few times, and then need to go sit down because I can’t possibly imagine finding a place for any of this stuff, and why do we have so much stuff, anyway? Why didn’t we just throw it all away? And where the hell is the rental agreement? There was some paperwork (that’s the manila envelope I referenced above; keep up, people) I was supposed to send back to the landlord and now I can’t find it and OMG panic.

So now I’m taking a break from unpacking, if you can take a break from something you weren’t really doing in the first place, and hoping that a little time spent hiding in the bedroom will make the process seem less daunting. That, or I’ll just end up staying up here until Not So gets home and rescues me.

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