January 17-28: In between really crappy weather, snow, sleet, sideways downpours, and windstorms, I spend days loading boxes of dishes, books, and toys into the big yellow storage box. I look at each item and decide “Sell? Keep? Donate?” I can understand hoarders’ pain a little better. I feel grumpy and brain dead at the end of every day. You sure as heck never see that on HGTV. Maybe a couple of buff young guys hefting a couch out the door, but never a middle-aged woman nearly collapsing in a sweaty blob as she schleps box after box out the door. Even small boxes are HEAVY. I pack them partway with books, then the rest of the way with toys, light dishes, and odds and ends. Still HEAVY. After a couple of days of loading boxes into the big yellow beast, I’m physically exhausted and muscles I thought long dead are screaming. Middle age sucks. After days of backbreaking labour, the big box is full from stem to stern, top to bottom; I would feel proud, but my house still seems full of crap. Dave makes a casual comment to the contractor about the big box having to stay on the driveway because it’s “not packed well enough to move.” If I could lift my arm, I would slug him.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
It Begins
January 17-28: In between really crappy weather, snow, sleet, sideways downpours, and windstorms, I spend days loading boxes of dishes, books, and toys into the big yellow storage box. I look at each item and decide “Sell? Keep? Donate?” I can understand hoarders’ pain a little better. I feel grumpy and brain dead at the end of every day. You sure as heck never see that on HGTV. Maybe a couple of buff young guys hefting a couch out the door, but never a middle-aged woman nearly collapsing in a sweaty blob as she schleps box after box out the door. Even small boxes are HEAVY. I pack them partway with books, then the rest of the way with toys, light dishes, and odds and ends. Still HEAVY. After a couple of days of loading boxes into the big yellow beast, I’m physically exhausted and muscles I thought long dead are screaming. Middle age sucks. After days of backbreaking labour, the big box is full from stem to stern, top to bottom; I would feel proud, but my house still seems full of crap. Dave makes a casual comment to the contractor about the big box having to stay on the driveway because it’s “not packed well enough to move.” If I could lift my arm, I would slug him.
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