Cardboard Dreams

In two weeks I'll be moving to a new place. It's larger, more convenient, offers more privacy, and provides several do-it-yourself opportunities that I'm actually looking forward to tackling.

BUT! Moving. I hate moving. For the next several days leading up to the move-in date, I'll be looking for boxes and thinking about boxes nearly 24/7. Moving is all about the boxes. Finding that perfect box that will hold all of my precious belongings. Sturdy boxes, boxes with lids, boxes that make you want to break them down and keep them because they're so damn functional (and eventually we all just move again, so we'll put it to good use in the future). The physical action of finding good boxes and then packing them up makes moving a chore. I don't mind so much the removal of boxes from the old address and carting of items into the new address - that's a form of adrenaline rush that doesn't bother me a bit. Perhaps it's why I worked in the moving industry during my college days for so long. A summer job turned into full-time employment. I even spent a year considering buying out the owners of the business. I learned quickly though that I don't belong in the service industry.

So in two weeks, as I pack up and cart out the last box of stuff, I'll breathe a huge sigh of relief. Not out of being tired so much as being thankful that I won't be moving again for a while. I'll be setting up a household that, for the near future at least, will be my home and a part-time home for my two kids.

Of course when it's time to move on, I'll do the box dance all over again. For the sake of the cardboard.

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