Moving right along

Things are getting kind of blurry these days.It could be because I'm moving faster than usual. You know that old saying, a picture's worth a thousand words? Well, it's not really. When it comes to moving and packing, I have only one word. I think you can guess what it is. Starts with an F and ends with a k.

How is it possible that when there is only one of me, I feel like I have been stuck in packing hell for the past two weeks. You prepare to pack. You pack. You pack and pack and pack. You tell other people you're packing. You get advice on packing. You tell 'em what you packed. You unpack. And, then you unpack and unpack and you eliminate the boxes you painstakingly accummulated as if you're watching a grainy, documentary in reverse.

What did I do when I actually had a full-time job? Was I just some highly efficient moving machine then? Or is it that when I moved into this place, I had lived in a bachelor suite and therefore, I had less stuff.

You'd think I was Rob Feenie given how much stuff I've taken out of my kitchen and at this point, I can't even recall the last time I had someone for dinner as a result of my own little personal financial crisis which is on par with the one in the U.S.

I feel like preparing to move has become my full-time job. It has been all consuming. Don't talk to me. I'm preparing to move. Can't come with you. I'm preparing to move. Yes, I've had on the same clothes for 3 days. I know. I'm moving. What do you expect from me?

But, as a result of the impending move, I've been many, many new places. I've been to the computer recycling depot and discovered the place where you can take propane/butane camping tanks to be recycled right along with empty paint tins (seems like a dangerous combination).

I've come across enough old eyeglasses in my underwear drawer to provide sight to a small village in India. So, I dropped off the frames for that purpose. The only thing is, when they see what they look like in those previously fashionable but now highly oversized frames, I'm not sure they won't just resort back to blindness as the preferred option.

I've hung out at an empty lot across the street, swallowing my pride while lining up my stuff and watching the human experiment known as the bargain hunter rummage through it. Very interesting. The best part of that was the enjoyable often humorous banterings with the people I met passing on the sidewalk.

I've had a long philosophical discussion with the Iranian owner behind the counter where I'm renting the truck. When he found out where I was moving, even though he'd never been, but just liked the sound of it, he somehow decided to open up about his own frustrated existence where, instead of writing short stories he must work behind the counter day and night in the family business, no choice, because that's how it works he says. I get up. I come here. I work. I work. I work. I go home. I eat. I go to bed. All the while I'm listening to him thinking, why do I bring out this stuff in people? I just wanted to book a truck to pack my crap into. Therapy is extra. Five Cents.

I've sold, just today, what might have been an authentic Cowichan sweater. It's been in my posession ever since 1992. Seems like time to let it go. The prospective buyer, picking her way carefully around boxes and moving flotsam and jetsam was modelling it amidst my junk. Why do you want one of these? I ask. Well, I had a boyfriend. I used to love that sweater but when we broke up he got really mean so I had to get rid of him and it. But, lately, I've been thinking so much about that sweater and I decided I needed to get another one. Sweater. Not boyfriend. And, voila! Thanks to Craigslist, she found mine. Here take it. Deal of the century. Anything else I can sell you? Seemed only right that if she was buying the Cowichan sweater I might as well throw in a free copy of Peter C. Newman's Caesars of the Wilderness book. Anybody looking for the 15th and 125th anniversary edition of Bartlett's quotations? Cheap. Real cheap! You can quote me on that!

I've let go of the graduation present I received 24 years ago from SFU. My Pentax Me Super. Great camera but 24 years seems long enough to hang onto it. It was an awesome present. It served its purpose and well, it was, priceless but for you with 2lenses and the camera bag $100 I said to the nice very attractive Asian girl from Langley who wants it to learn photography the old fashioned way.

All this has actually made me reflect back to last summer (was it only last summer?)when a certain person was in town helping his sister move her entire house and I was totally oblivious to how much work that must have been. Didn't care. Whatever. Nothing to do with me. Not my problem. What were you saying? You sound kinda stressed I said when it came to the car. Like Duh!

I was placing some demands on him related to wanting to see him a third time and NOW I just think, wow, I can't believe he seemed so calm about that.

Maybe that's why he showed up on the third night smelling like sweat! Geez. He was probably running around like a maniac and then he had to park in the West End probably 10 blocks from my house. If someone was placing any kind of demands on ME right about now, I'd be like get out of my way you crazy *&^%! I don't have time for an inane visit with you that will lead to the mutual obliteration of spirit that is inevitable.

Amazing what a little perspective will do for you and even more amazing how one year can be so different from the last.

I may never get off that island once I move there. It just won't be worth it to leave. I expect moving is a lot like childbirth. The pain of it all is just a vague memory that grows more distant with each passing year, as long as you're not crazy enough to move (or have another baby) ever again!