Moving the first

I’m moving house at the end of this month.

The removal people are booked, but that’s the easy bit. I have to organise, pack and label the contents of a two-bedroomed house (plus the almost Alpine-like landscape of stuff that is lurking in the loft), before the removal people get here.

And, meanwhile, I have to continue living in the house (which is difficult enough with many of my possessions and household things packed away).

I also have to be agile, and dodge my way around mountains of packed things, without brushing against any, because I would probably get buried in the resulting avalanche of the contents of dusty cardboard boxes.

This morning my internal monologue became a full-blown conversation.

Me: There is just one person living in this house, right?
Me: Yeah, just you.
Me: Well how come there’s so much bloody stuff to move?
Me (shrug)
Me: (shrug)? Is that all you’ve got? (shrug)??
Me: Well, it’s your stuff too.
Me: Don’t you get smart with me!
Me: I wasn’t getting smart with you, you big geek! I was just pointing out that you own everything in here too.

A fight ensued. Which I won, obv.

Anyway.

After the move, there’s the joyful task of unpacking and sorting everything out, and the rebuilding of stuff.

This will, inevitably, be followed by the months-long ‘I’m not sure I want this here, maybe I’ll try it over there for a while’ conversations that my brain will have with my body, as I wrangle and wrestle furniture around the new house.

So yeah, much joy awaits me, in the coming weeks.