What is it that I'm doing you ask??
I'm blowing into a paper bag.
Packing has gotten out of control. Way out of control. My place looks like a flop house. I can barely move. There is stuff everywhere. And because it's Me: THERE IS LITTLE TO NO STRUCTURE GOING ON.
**Deep Breath**
I need to really dig deep. The next 24 hours are critical. So what do I do??
Write a blog post.
I'm taking a break. I have to. Or else things are going to spiral out of control.
Or more out of control than they already are.
Alright, so I'm moving in with the boo into his brother's condo. The move is temporary, so the goal is to put most of my treasures into a storage unit.
What is currently giving me anxiety has to do with: Storage. There's what I would consider a potential storage concern at the condo. The concern being: There's not going to be room for my shoes. Or coats. Or vast collection of sweat pants.
The boo has a normal sized closet. I honestly don't see how this is going to work. He's optimistic about it. I don't think he understands what all is involved when you are female. There's a lot of stuff that you have when you are a girl, that guys don't have. For example: I have no less than ten scarfs. Do you know how many scarfs he has: ONE. As in, singular. A Single Scarf.
I'm going to be cutting this close. Good thing I don't have one of those silly jobs to slow me down. Supposedly, I'm moving Friday afternoon. Or that's when the movers are coming at least.
Why would someone hire movers that are waking up to nothing but Saturdays everyday (aka not working)?? Because I love my boo. And I'd like our union to continue.
In past experiences moving in with a domestic partner has been a non-fun event. I'm talking about the actual move itself. Not the living together part.
I've seen a rational person lose their ish over moving. I'd like for neither of us to choke the other one out.
And for $300, I feel like a potential domestic dispute can be entirely avoided.
I've been packing all day. Ok fine...I've taken a couple of breaks here and there. But mostly, I've been packing and cleaning and moving around stuff from one pile to another.
Since most of this stuff is going into storage...I've been sorting through everything and have been trying to figure out what I'll need for the next month or so.
I feel like I'm packing for college all over again. I can't decide what to take.
True Story: For the past 10 minutes I've been staring at three white tank tops...trying to decide which are my "favorite two" to take. It was at this point I decided I needed some fruit punch...and a break.
So this is me taking a break.
I have no less than 70 reservations about this whole thing. I like my personal space. A lot. A lot a lot.
My reservations all pertain to myself personally. The boo and bro are really laid back and I know everything will be ok on their end.
It's my end I'm worried about.
As I go through my belongings, I have started to question many things. Mostly, I'm wondering if I've turned into a hoarder.
I'm not really a hoarder. I just have an emotional attachment to some things.
My former life no longer fits into my current life. But I can't just throw/give everything away.
I think I've done a pretty good job with sorting through my things. Both literally and metaphorically. But there are some things I just can't say goodbye to.
It's not the gift that I have the attachment to. It's the time I've spent with Wally. When I was driving around as a Drug Rep, Wally would come with me. Don't Judge: You put 5,000 miles a month on your car driving around Iowa...You'd bring a stuffed animal with you too.
Anyway, we've spent SO MUCH TIME together. And I can't seem to part with him. Not because of an attachment to my former domestic partner. But my attachment towards Walter himself.
Yeah, I know he's a red ape with a bad pleather jacket. But he was with me when no one was. Literally. He rode in my car for thousands and thousands of miles and never once did he give me a hard time. Never. Not when I rapped along with my boy Snoop Dog or Dr Dre. Or even Bone Thugz and Harmony.
Yes, I realize he's a stuffed animal. I think this is what happens when you don't have kids. Actually, no. This is what happens to ME. This is what happens when you're me.
Do I have a vivid imagination?? Yes. Do I give stuffed animals their own persona's and make up stories about their lives?? Yes. I'm forever a four year old.
Guys, I'm not sure where I was going with this. If I was even going anywhere. I just needed a break to calm down.
I am now calm and can get back to sorting through my underwear and questioning why I bought those Sketcher Shape Ups two years ago (that I just found in my closet).
I'll keep everyone posted on the moving situation.
Should you have any thoughts, comments, concerns, or would just like to question my judgement overall...Just leave a comment!
Other Stories:
Bathroom Attendants, Sled Dogs, and Living In My Car
Dog Roommates, Big Pun, and My Closet
That One Time I Was a Drug Rep: A Tale of Type 2 Diabetes and Erectile Dysfunction
Forever, Blogging About Very Important Stories Of My Life,
Miss Oakley
**Comments are Welcome & No Judgement Shall Ever be Passed.
**As with Everything I Write, Feel Free to Share. Sharing is Caring.
**Should you wish to read more profound thoughts throughout the day...
Follow my twitter account @MissOakley
No comments:
Post a Comment