Moving, part two:

Some of you might remember that approximately 85% of my belongings have been in storage, aka “The Unit,” (not to be confused with the David Mamet-created television series – though, haha! That would be funny!) for almost two years. And you’ll also-maybe recall my sporadic delight when opening up random boxes in an attempt to find something I needed during those preceding almost two years.

Multiply that delight by ten thousand. Got it worked out in your head? Good. Because that’s the  level of oh my gosh I forgot that I had this!!! feeling I’ve been experiencing once every ten seconds or so as I unpack.

It’s a good thing, too, because packing? I love. Unpacking? I loathe. Except now it’s like opening up gifts. Gifts wrapped in cardboard boxes sealed with heavy duty packing tape. Gifts I’ve already paid for.

But after the novelty of being reunited with my harmonica wears off,* I’m left with an overwhelming sense of doom. Like, where is all this shit going to go? It’s not for a lack of space – even though I own countless, supercilious items (foam dart gun, anyone?), I’ve got the room; It’s just a question of which nook and which cranny I’ll choose.  I can never predict what will ultimately become most convenient to me, especially in a new space like this.

Side note: my kitchen has forty-two dozen cabinets (yay!), all of which are at a base height of about 6′ (boo!). Mama’s gonna need a step stool.

As I’ve only got a short day of work ahead of me and am off all day Thursday, my goal is to be unpacked by tomorrow. Tomorrow, kids. It IS only a day away.  Wish me luck.

*Sorry neighbors. Hope you like ‘O Susanna!’

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