February 24, 2011

• Almost everything is done.

  The only thing left in the old place is a mattress, a rocking chair, and a handful of things in the fridge. I'll take care of the last two today (C has promised to deal with the first). And then I will have finally, absolutely moved.

  The new place is still a mess. The living room is filled with boxes, things we're not sure about. A mannequin makes a lot of sense in a fashion magazine editor's apartment office. Does it make sense here? And how can we have so many tables between us? And why are they all so nice? The bedroom is still a wreck, too. Our beautiful antique iron bed frame is in the mudroom (the bolts are rusted and stripped) and our mattress is on the floor. We have nowhere near enough storage, so half my things remain in garbage bags on the closet floor. (It's a sad little recess to start with, but to have to share the thing is nearly intolerable.) 

  But the kitchen is more or less finished. And the den, where I sit now, is comfortable enough. It keeps me from going insane in the chaos. 

  I'm totally exhausted. My sister told me there was some study (isn't there always?) that said the stress of moving was only matched by the stress of losing a loved one. Though I've more or less accepted I live here now, I still have great moments of panic. Whenever anything goes wrong I think, "Do I have to pack again?" And I start wondering how long I can put off unpacking what's left, just in case. 

  What I have decided is that while things are more or less out in the open (and since there is a charity shop just across the way), I will continue to try and purge my belongings. I have a lot of lovely things - but the "lot" is clearly too much.

  At least for now.
  g.

   

  • 7:45 am
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