Finally! Moved...

When we were in college, I helped Hubby (then Boyfriend) to move twice. It was not fun. Both times there were hills and stairs involved which inevitably led to bruises, aching bodies and broken stuff. I thought those moves were the worst ever. I was wrong. So very, very wrong.

We were only in our last house for two and a half years and moving in really wasn't that bad. And I don't think that I just don't remember how bad it was. Really, though, when is moving NOT bad? So, of course, I mean that it was COMPARATIVELY not bad, considering that the loan didn't fund on time (which is another post entirely) so we had to move twice-- first to a storage unit while staying with my parents for a week, then into the new house. But even then we were getting our own house, our own little piece of the American dream. Oh, it was so easy and fun to be romantic back then.

The worst part about moving is, I've determined, the Craps. In no way, shape or form can I be romantic about Craps. In fact, Craps suck all the romance and even, sometimes, the amity out of my marriage to darling Hubby. Because moving is the time when one truly realizes that his or, in my case, her, life has become completely overrun by Craps. I don't mean crap in the generic "stuff I don't really need but keep around for no logical reason". I mean Craps, that dark universal force, that evil, living, undulating entity that at first seemingly innocuously, then insidiously, takes over one's life.

Allow me to grab my stick and draw a crude pictogram in the mud. When we moved into our last place (the home from which we just moved) we moved from a partially furnished 3-bedroom home, so when we arrived it was with three beds, two offices, a kitchen, one sofa, and a ton of miscellaneous Craps which lived their lives undisturbed in the garage for pretty much the entire time. Moving out, we had accumulated furniture to fill the nursery, dining room, living room, family room, and our gargantuan bedroom and bathroom. We also, along the way, managed to hang onto a ton of new Craps. We had ten boxes worth of Craps in the bathroom alone. I look at those boxes, only half of which are stacked in my bathroom now, since it is smaller than my closet at the old place, and I wonder what the hell is in there. Really, what is it? I don't know! I don't know HOW we could have accumulated so much stuff and not have any idea what it is. I'm surviving perfectly well without it so I'm considering just chucking it. Doesn't that sound liberating? Just throw it out!!! Throw out the Craps!!! It's probably just all containers with a little bit of soap, toothpaste, shampoo or hair products left in the bottom. The kind of stuff that I go to throw away and a little voice tells me not to be wasteful so I reluctantly return it to the medicine cabinet, or under the sink, or in a drawer. Do you know what that is? That's the Craps talking. And next time we go to move (which is hopefully never again, or maybe just one more time and then never again), viola! A ton of new Craps! Well, not new Craps, but a ton of Craps that's less old than the previous ton of Craps. Sigh. I hate Craps. I want them to die, but I think they might want to kill me more. I think maybe that's how I'll go-- drowning in tons and tons and tons of Craps.

Forgetting about Craps for a moment, The Beans and Biscuit have fared VERY well with the move. Note that I'm not even throwing the "all things considered" caveat in there. Biscuit's room is, of course, a disaster but then, he is 12 and has been at his dad's this week. When he has been here, he's been really excited to play with the stuff he's rediscovered. Of course! Biscuit is easily distracted by bright, shiny objects (read: Craps). They seem to send him into a sort of fugue-like state in which all the world apart from said bright, shiny object no longer exists, time stops and he's in his own little happy-land. Not that I'm one to criticize, seeing as how I'm here behind my desk in the family room, typing away, happily (and selectively) oblivious to the fact that I'm still mired in tons of boxed Craps patiently awaiting my judgement. What will it be for you, boxes of Craps? Will you survive the Great Craps Purge of '08? Probably not. But you can hope. I'm cruel like that. And I want to be cruel to these Craps. Oh so very cruel. Maybe my procrastinative nature will earn you a brief respite to the garage, Craps. Enjoy it, Craps-- your days are numbered. What's that? I might be able to use a pound of hot-glue sticks? I'll surely find use for four packages of unscented tealights? Five-year-old bubblebath might still be usable? Up yours, Craps!