The view beyond my side-table-turned-desk on my final days in the old place are of random plastic bags, a DVD player, rug, empty boxes, and at least seven fragile paper bags holding heavy VHS tapes. One of these bags shattered on the way to the new apartment. I’ve been idly pondering on my first day of rest after five days of moving furniture and boxes: How will I move these? How about everything else here?
I never want to deal with this much stuff again.
I’m so physically and mentally exhausted from this whole perverse odyssey of moving clutter and junk I cherish from one location to another. Each item holds just enough attachment in my mind that it’s difficult to imagine when I’ll part ways with some of these items, whereas others I’m holding onto merely because I don’t think they deserve a dishonorable burial in the trash heap. I’ve been ruminating over what I can see while resting, my nose running or scabbed over, my hand – slammed into a wall – subsiding its bruise, and the welts on my legs probably fading as well.
By the fifth day of moving, I was burned out.
When I pace myself, eat well, and rest decently, I can go far. Even that has its limits. The old place is nearly clear, its spare bedroom nearly empty, my bedroom filled with bagged clothes or empty boxes, and the living room where I sit has all the aforementioned clutter. Within four carloads, I should be cleared out. The empty boxes are ones that I emptied out at the new place so I could reuse them. I still have a few boxes I can build, but why not save them until I need them?
I’ve missed out on writing time and opportunities throughout this move.
Energy spent finding people to help me move, moving, and recovering could have been reallocated to writing or finding events to write about. I am on the cusp of actually getting my name out there in a fundamentally positive way. I can’t waste more time than I must on things that don’t help me or help people I care about. Since I barely felt like doing anything, slept in, and even napped throughout the day, I guess my mind’s been catching up with the change in scenery. With the help of my friends, including Moving Zeal editor J.D., we’ve made incredible progress over five days, but that’s the thing:
Those are five days I won’t get back.
Five days with over 40 hours of work that I can’t apply to my writing, research, or even relaxation in any regard. I would rather have spent that time doing most anything else than planning and dealing with things I do care about but aren’t vital to my livelihood. Today was recuperating from all that. Hopefully after this new place’s lease is up, it’ll only be a day or two of moving tops.
I will downsize everything else, trimming anything that I don’t cherish.
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Another wasted day, but in a different regard. I have three professional essays to either write or complete, but I’ve been too tired today to want to bother. My rowers are at the new place, so I don’t even have that. I think I’ll wrap up this essay then go to sleep to wake up early tomorrow and try again.|
|Related: Other Moving Zeal essays.|
Above: Shot from my laptop area.
Below: The bags in question.
|Written On: March 7th [30 minutes]|
|Last Edited: First draft; final draft.|