January 26, 2011

• I am consumed with moving.

  
  illustration by Julie Verhoeven

  My whole world is filled with boxes and paint and how-the-hell-do-I-even-pack-that?! Yesterday I stood frozen in front of my bookshelf for three minutes, trying to decide if I want to keep my 1994 raver goggles. Which, of course, let me to wonder where on earth I put my gas mask (naturally). Before I knew it, an hour had passed and I'd accomplished absolutely nothing.

  We spend our free evenings at the new place, trying to get it some kind of ready for the first deluge of boxes and furniture. (Nothing worse than painting around piles of stuff.) The first half of the evening finds me enthusiastic and filled with ideas. By the time we leave I am reminded of the amount of work the place demands; I remember how I've been in my apartment for eight years and have everything just how I like it. It leaves me anxious and sad. And then, in the morning I pack and plan and the whole cycle starts again.

  Last night we finished painting the kitchen (at least the basics). The colour is dark - too dark, I thought at first, like making lunch in the renaissance - but by the time we left I loved it. 

  Probably.

  I have resigned myself to not knowing how I feel until at least the middle of February.

  g.

   

  • 8:07 am
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