I hate moving.

Between endless runs back and forth in rush hour, endless waiting for delivery people who never come, ill timed plumbing issues, and a million little things to do, I feel like this: 

Don’t get me wrong – I really really love our new apartment. But I HATE the frustration of lugging things across town in my Honda because NO ONE has a truck in this city.  I hate being in between two places, therefore never really knowing where anything is. Currently, my life is in 6 piles. Why does it seem that every summer involves cataloguing and piling up my life? The current stacks are:

1. Things to pack up and move to the apartment.
2. Things to pack up and take home for good.
3. Things to pack up for summer in Kentucky.
4. Things to pack up for honeymoon where the weather will in no way resemble Kentucky summer (but I’m not telling where… : ) ).
5. Things to get rid of. (Why do I have so much stuff?????? Every time I get rid of something, I then feel justified 2 of something else. James compared my situation to that of our federal government and their ongoing debt. Cutting 1 billion dollars does us no good when we then add legislation that costs us 2 billion. In theory this was to make me feel guilty. Instead it just made me sympathize with the Feds. But James no longer has any high ground, because we moved his stuff in the apartment over the weekend and I am pretty sure that he has more clothes than me and 6 times as many books. But I still have more shoes, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to marry him. )
6. Things to take home and put in the dress-up box in the basement. The fact that I am pulling things from my current closet and allocating them to a costume box somewhere shows us that something is seriously wrong with fashion today.