Packing is one of those activities that you do for hours on end, then look around and realise you have hardly made a dent. For a two bedroom townhouse I have accumulated a lot of crap over the past three years to build on the crap from the 30 years before that. Boxes of the stuff. But even though I know it's crap I still can't seem to get rid of it - sentimentality insanity. In 50 years time will I really care that I saved my Christmas cards from 1992? Will I ever need inspiration from 100 back issues of outdated Real Living magazines?
When I was a kid I spent hours with my baby sister Alison pretending we were librarians - getting all of our books out, writing out book loan cards (computers were still the size of a small house back in those days), loaning them to imaginary people. When we got sick of that we would wash Dad's 1982 Commodore, pretending it was the Queen's Rolls Royce. Maybe because we didn't understand the concept of working and chores at that stage, they seemed grown up and fun. Maybe I just need to channel that again - fly Alison in from Sydney and pretend that we are professional house packers. The problem is that now I am a grown up, and I understand the reality of chores and work. And being a professional house packer must be in contention for the title of world's worst job.
You know who I do have respect for? Those people who manage international moves - the ones who walk into your house, glance around and estimate you have 1.4556 40ft shipping containers worth of contents to ship. How do they do that? I can't even accurately estimate the number of boxes - I never get enough. I looked around a few days ago and thought "20 boxes should just about do it". I have nearly used them up and haven't even left the kitchen/dining yet. Not to mention the amount of newspaper. After digging into the stash I have for Roary's kitty litter (is that bad? It feels a little tainted because of it's initial intended purpose), I have already progressed to the tea towel drawer and now the linen cupboard to source wrapping for my breakables. Haven't had to succumb to toilet paper just yet.
I'm looking forward to the troops (Mum and Dad) arriving on Sunday morning to sort me out. We moved house what seemed like 50 times before I was 10 - and all in the same suburb, which in hindsight is kind of weird actually - so they are seasoned experts at this moving and packing business. Clearly one gene I did not inherit.
Better get back to it....or maybe just a quick nap on the couch first.....
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