On a scale of 1-10, my disdain for packing is about a 100. I think that’s fairly normal, actually. I don’t know anyone who loves packing. For me, though, packing is an extra onerous chore. The worst part is that it’s totally my own fault.
I am a pack rat. I keep things because “I might need that one day” only I never need these things. Instead, they end up stuffed in cupboards, piled in storage rooms, overflowing from tiny bins that I buy for the sole purpose of organizing my crap.
Every single time I move, I get rid of an astounding amount of crap. And when I look at that pile of crap I tell myself it will never happen again. I will not stockpile useless objects. I will throw things away or, better yet, I won’t even acquire them in the first place. Yet here I am staring at another giant crap pile. Currently, it is taking up my entire dining area though, to be fair, in a 500 square foot condo the dining area isn’t terribly large. Still, it is a lot of crap for one human to possess.
To make matters worse, I have failed to learn the lesson of decluttering despite a ridiculous number of moves. If you think it’s only been a handful of times and that maybe, just maybe I’m just learning slowly, you would be very wrong. I have moved not once, nor twice, but a mind-boggling 16 times since 1998. Clearly this is beyond slow learning.
Alas, if things are quiet on this front this week and next, it is not because I am not devoting time to SI recovery. No, it is because I am surrounded by crap, crap that I willingly and single-handedly acquired and which now makes moving easily my least enjoyable life experience.