I am convinced that there is nothing worse than moving. Our office is getting ready to move to a new location in 1 week. The place is a total disaster. Folks are packing up, sorting through their stuff, and re-organizing. I have unpacked and re-packed several file boxes, and have spent about 3 hours standing in front of the shredder. I know that we will be in a much better place in a week, but the getting there just stinks.
I am flashing back to last summer when I helped my dad move. It was just horrible. We procrastinated, then at the last minute, had to make the tough decisions about what stays and what gos. The worst part for me was that his house was the storage place for all of my childhood things. We all knew he was going to move for at least six months, but we could never bring ourselves to get ready. So, when I did go through things, I had my step mother there saying things like "What do you really need that for?" I got so tired of her asking questions and giving me that look, that I just started throwing away everything. Later, I went with tears in my eyes to the local Goodwill to see if I could find the nightlight that used to shine in my bedroom when I was a kid. My dad asked me about it before he put it in the box - he was so surprised I would let it go. I was so tired of dealing with stuff - I told him to just take it away. Even more than one year later, I still think about that light and it makes me cry. I really hate moving.
Happy reading, #histfic fans!
22 hours ago