So we moved into our new house a month ago, and the PODS were delivered, and I was reunited with stuff I had lived without for eight months, and it seemed a little *excessive*, but manageable.
Since that day, I have made almost DAILY trips back to my in-laws house to reclaim the items we deemed *necessary* enough to live with while selling our house. You know, at first it was stuff like my CLOTHES and my pots and pans--but somewhere along the line, it became about two, OLD TiVo boxes, countless bins of acrylic paint and barbie horses without heads--and then it all became very obvious that I don't know the meaning of the word "necessary".
For a period of time, I just decided to ignore it all, and I busied myself with the task of hanging pictures and fabric covered canvases--and I was just delusional enough to believe that I have GOT THIS. That I would be unpacked and organized and ready for the mother of all garage sales in a few short weeks. I even entertained thoughts of making fabric buntings for my sale tables, to really draw the crowds in, you know?
But the time has ticked down, and my in-laws are about to return from their winter in Hilton Head, and so for the past week or so, Mike and I (but mostly Mike) have gotten busy with getting all of our crap out of their basement. Which MUST BE attached to the biggest bitch of an underground storage unit--because it makes NO LOGICAL SENSE.
Every time Mike makes a run over to the basement (with his TRAILER, mind you...so every trip is a LARGE load of shit), I think, "This is it! We're done!", and then Mike bursts my little bubble and tells me there is more. MORE. And then I think, well just one more, probably. And then Mike makes 37 more trips, and it just never ends. Today he brought over an entire furniture unit filled with kids shoes, which is FUNNY because we have all of our shoes here; but this is just another sign that I probably need to purge a few million things, because there is no room for an entire storage unit of shoes we don't wear. The shit parade (official term for the moving process) STILL hasn't ended and the basement is filling up FAST and I am getting nervous. And I can probably never step foot in Hobby Lobby again, even though it's fairly obvious that I OWN that place with the amount of money I have spent there in the past five years.
And then I remembered that Easter is this weekend, and that is like a giant kick in the testicles, because: 1.) I don't know where the Easter baskets are, but I'm *guessing* they are in one of 3,489,256 boxes in the basement, though probably labeled as infant clothing spring 2003, and 2.) I have to buy four baskets worth of more crap. Honestly, I'm considering purchasing a litter of hamsters and calling it a day, because we know the life span on those things is three years max. But this, again, assumes that I will discard them upon death--and well, history is proving that I just don't throw anything away.