My thoughts on moving home

 

1. how did I get so much shit in my life? I remember the days when my life fitted in a rucksack. Admittedly my ass fitted into a size 34 jeans then too so not only has my stash of crap got bigger – but really – wtf! There are just boxes and boxes of stuff – all mine.

2. moving is much more fun on rom-coms than in real life. How come in movies people move two boxes and a bicycle, helped by ridiculously good-looking sweat free friends – and three hours later have a house filled with fabulous furniture and have thrown together a meal for 20. In my world there were the aforementioned millions of boxes, sweaty, dusty, sneezing friends, dodgy pies from the nearest garage and 2 days later I still don’t have a stove.

I wanna live in Friends dammit

3. no friend in the world actually wants to help you move. Not a single one. They do it because a) they love you, b) they fear you, c) they are planning to move and know they will need help d) they didn’t think of a reason to be out of town fast enough when you said you were moving or e) (and this is how I got any help at all) you asked them to help when they were drunk and full of love for you.

4. half the shit I have apparently I probably don’t need. There are still boxes unpacked and yet I have not missed anything yet. Of course, once I open the boxes I will find stuff without which I cannot survive for even one hour – but for now, I seem to be doing fine without.

5. unpacking books is wonderfully therapeutic. The rest of the house may look like a bomb hit a pawn shop, but the bookcases look fabulous

 

Happy smile

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