- I am forced to realize and acknowledge exactly how much stuff I actually own. I pride myself on being a minimalist and owning as little as possible, but apparently that’s a bunch of crap because I own way, way too much stuff for that. Even though I don’t really own much furniture, I still have bedroom stuff, kitchen stuff, bathroom stuff, Mindy stuff… My dog alone has two boxes of things, plus a crate and a gate. She’s a diva and I’m blaming all of my problems on her. Which brings me to the next thing that happens…
- I try to find people to blame for all of the stuff. “Why do I have so many cards from friends and family?! I’m not even that nice!” “Kia is to blame for this stupid giant stuffed hamster that I have to move all over the stupid planet.” “How dare [redacted] loan me their Tupperware. Just because I have consistently forgotten to return it for the past three years does not mean that it’s my responsibility.”
- I have an existential crisis. “Is life just about acquiring things, lots of things, just to move them around from place to place? Is that what we’re on earth for? Life is too short to waste precious time, energy and space moving things. Maybe I’ll just get rid of everything I own and go back to sleeping on the floor. Moving zero beds is way more fun and fulfilling than moving a queen-sized bed.”
- I start to question my entire identity. I like to think of myself as a fairly patient, kind, understanding, reasonable person. But all of that is shot to hell under the pressure of moving. I become edgy, irritable, filled with road rage, hungry, cranky, sweaty, grouchy. I say things I would never normally say, like “I would rather swim in a pool of acid than move one more box.” Or, “If I have to climb one more flight of stairs, I’m jumping off the balcony.” Real dark stuff.
- My problem solving skills (fail to) come out. “I can move this entire room full of stuff, by myself, with four boxes in an hour, tops.” None of that turns out to be accurate. What looked like “just a few things” turned out to be a virtual Mary Poppin’s Carpet Bag full of things. When you think it ends, NOPE!, here’s another closet! A spoonful of sugar won’t do crap for helping you pack, neither.
- It’s SO EXPENSIVE. Deposits, moving costs, first rent, last rent, U-Haul trucks, boxes, furniture, paying homeless people to carry your stuff, cleaning supplies. The costs never end!
- On the bright side, it is always an exciting and cathartic experience. Just kidding, it sucks.