I didn't move around a lot as a child. My family moved once, when I was 8, into the house in which my parents currently live. This is probably the norm, one or even no moves as a child. But since graduating from high school, I think I have moved at least 10 times, and this feels strangely abnormal. It's a lot of packing up all my stuff in boxes and moving them.
Needless to say, I think I'm pretty good at moving. I don't know what not being good at moving looks like, but if I can use friends who I have helped move as a barometer, then I think I'm pretty good at it. I practically have a moving system. I start (well in advance of course, in this case, the middle of August) by packing up my books, anything hanging on my walls, and my winter clothes. Or in this case, all of my clothes. And bedding. Because of the flea invasion, if you recall. Anyway, then I move on to pack up the kitchen and anything I don't use on a regular basis, like my bundt pan. Then, eventually everything gets packed up, the rest of the kitchen, the bathroom, and I disassemble my desktop computer (or in this case, Drew disassembles my desktop). I pack practically every last thing in boxes and I neatly label them. I am that organized. Or anal retentive. It's all in how you frame it, I suppose.
Drew and I finished packing up my apartment last weekend. I didn't think I had that much stuff, but when it's all boxed up and out in the open, it looks like a lot. I'm not a minimalist, but I'm definitely not a hoarder. Every few months or so I actually go through all my stuff and purge anything I don't need or use. Since I tend to think through my purchases and try not to buy what I don't need (except in the case of Bath & Body Works products), I usually don't get rid of a lot of stuff.
The big move and the merging of stuff is happening this weekend. I'm looking forward to it, but I'll miss my apartment, but only a little bit. It helps when you have chain smoking neighbors smoking on the steps and strewing ashes everywhere. I won't miss that.
Needless to say, I think I'm pretty good at moving. I don't know what not being good at moving looks like, but if I can use friends who I have helped move as a barometer, then I think I'm pretty good at it. I practically have a moving system. I start (well in advance of course, in this case, the middle of August) by packing up my books, anything hanging on my walls, and my winter clothes. Or in this case, all of my clothes. And bedding. Because of the flea invasion, if you recall. Anyway, then I move on to pack up the kitchen and anything I don't use on a regular basis, like my bundt pan. Then, eventually everything gets packed up, the rest of the kitchen, the bathroom, and I disassemble my desktop computer (or in this case, Drew disassembles my desktop). I pack practically every last thing in boxes and I neatly label them. I am that organized. Or anal retentive. It's all in how you frame it, I suppose.
Drew and I finished packing up my apartment last weekend. I didn't think I had that much stuff, but when it's all boxed up and out in the open, it looks like a lot. I'm not a minimalist, but I'm definitely not a hoarder. Every few months or so I actually go through all my stuff and purge anything I don't need or use. Since I tend to think through my purchases and try not to buy what I don't need (except in the case of Bath & Body Works products), I usually don't get rid of a lot of stuff.
The big move and the merging of stuff is happening this weekend. I'm looking forward to it, but I'll miss my apartment, but only a little bit. It helps when you have chain smoking neighbors smoking on the steps and strewing ashes everywhere. I won't miss that.
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