The most exciting thing in the history of the world has happened.
I have finally finished unpacking from the move!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Note how many explanations marks I used. Each one shows how totally psyched I am about my accomplishment.) And you thought I had dropped off the face of the earth, huh?
So it only took me two years to get settled in! Can you believe it? That's gotta be one for the Guinness world record books.
You know what this means don't you? It means I'm over my moving issues. It's official! I'm a perfectly well-adjusted, transition-free Utard.
Too slow! :) :)
You probably haven't noticed, but I'm giddy with enthusiasm. That's why I added the double smiley face.
It's just that it's such a relief to be unpacked. It was so so so so so hard, peeps. So. stinkin'. hard. Hard, as in I've been working on it for four days straight hard. Because all of my kids were away at Hemophila camp hard. So I didn't have any interruptions hard. Except to change the channel back and forth between Project Runway and America's Top Model hard.
Let's just say it is easier for a camel to squeeze through the eye of a needle, and for a rich man to get into heaven, than it is for me to finish unpacking.
That's how hard it was.
I pulled out every single box and bag and bin from my storage room and laundry room and spread their contents across my basement until it looked like I was auditioning for Clean House.
(Ain't it just ironic what a mess you have to make to clean things up sometimes?)
So there, strewn across my basement, were all of the things I was not ready to deal with before leaving Hawaii. Things I just had to shove into boxes and bags and bins and then turn away. I turned away and never looked back. Lest I should be transformed into a pillar of salt like Lot's dumb wife.
Instead I took the advice of the Robinsons and kept moving forwards. (Except I added an s to forward to make it more grammatically backwards.)
(You get me?)
So the thing about Lot's dumb wife is . . . I mean, have you ever noticed how hard it is to move forwards if you haven't sorted through the backwards?
The backwards weighs a ton when you're lugging it through the forwards. Especially because, well, once you start sorting through it, you realize most of it is crap, and who wants to lug a bunch of crap with them into the future?
Or, if you prefer the edited version, who wants to lug a bunch of junk with them into the future?
You gotsta get the junk out of the trunk. That's what I always say. Lighten up! That's what Chieko Okazaki always says.
But it ain't that easy, you know. Mostly because it's so so so hard. I mean, there I was, knee deep in the past. Literally holding the past in my hands. Touching it. And it was touching me. Day one it exhausted me. Day two it made me heavy laden and sad. But then day three dawned and I felt a spark of excited, as if I was seeing old, dear friends again, after a long, long absence. Day four, I was just done. So very done.
So you wanna see what the junk in my trunk looks like after I lightened up? After I seperated the wheat from the chaff? (Can you tell I'm teaching Sunday School this week?)
One fun thing about sorting through the backwards is that among your trash you will find your treasures. I found so many treasures which I had lost. Although technically, I hadn't lost them, I just couldn't find them. There's a difference, you know.
I found my favorite books and my favorite photos and journals and composition books and class notes. Boy do I have a lot of class notes. And none of them make any sense at all.
And I found my favorite print. I bought it for $1 from a street vendor in Mexico. Something about it instantly pierced my stone cold heart, but I was with a group and they didn't have time to stop. They just kept moving forward towards Tenocchtitlan's Plaza de la Constitucion. And I kept moving forward with them, until I couldn't stand it any longer. I broke away and sprinted back to the vendor to buy it. I kept it under my bed while I was going through my grieving season so I could slide it out at night and let my eyeballs sweat upon it.
I found other treasures too. Like a sticky note dated 2/23/07 at 1:55 that said "Please call Martha." And Pens. You thought 46 pens was a lot to find in my car? That was nothing. I found pens in every box and bag and bin. And chapstick spf 15. And little quotes written on the backs of receipts and movie tickets and unopened junk mail. I could write an entire quote calendar, peeps. I kid not.
The only place I didn't find pens or chapstick or little quotes was in my 72 hour kit. GO. FIGURE. See what I mean about the forwards being backwards?
At least now I'm not afraid to die. Now that I'm orgazined. Because ultimately isn't being organized a lot like wearing clean underwear?