Packing is probably one of the most pitiful acts to partake in. Aside from being absolutely awful, you have to sit there going through your own things and reassuring yourself over and over again that you are not a hoarder. You end up with a million trash bags of things you do not know why you kept. Things like, oh I don’t know, an accordion file stuffed with papers and assignments from school that you thought maybe you should keep but haven’t even opened it since you stopped going to grad school anyways, and your reason for taking all the horrible classes you did are stuffed inside that little dollar section accordion file, sitting and collecting dust as a constant reminder of being a failure at life! Not that I have experienced that, what gave you that impression? But if I did then that accordion file would be in the trash, even if it is pink! (Okay Britt, remember, calm, cool, and collected).
Anyways, as I was saying, packing sucks. The worst part for me has been the clothes. As I mentioned in my previous post, Parting with Clothes, I was having trouble getting rid of some. I explained how clothes are a part of you, so you have to get rid of old pieces when you are ready and that old part of yourself is ready to be let go of, and embrace your new self. But honestly I have a problem, one single human being should not be allowed to have this many clothes. It is a girls dream really, only to be made into your worst nightmare by a dinky sized closet. Well it is a normal sized closet, but it might as well be for a peasant for everything I need to stuff in there. It isn’t my fault! I blame working in retail for eight years. After days of organizing, multiple loads of laundry, a war between emotions for personified clothes and sane, rational thinking, and an oversized and overflowing donation box, I conquered the biggest challenge known to women, packing the closet. What relief I felt to be done.
Another thing to add to the list of why packing is the pits is how boxes and stuff is just everywhere. I practically killed myself walking into our apartment with my hands full, causing me to not be able to take my sunglasses off until I put the stuff down in the kitchen, resulting in me tripping over our Christmas tree box because I couldn’t see it.
Out of everything tragic that has gone along with my roomie and I packing, nothing can beat last night. It is our last few days in the apartment, I guess we had to have one more tragic event at Tragic Girl Headquarters to see us off. We started off living together with every intent to recycle and save the money to put towards a trip that we never planned anyways. Well we had a pretty big bag of recycling going, but never had the same day off of work to take it to turn in together. Eventually it was just in the way so we put it on the patio. As time went on it just became part of the patio so we didn’t bother with it. Being now that we have until Tuesday, yesterday we decided to clean the patio.
We started first with the few weeds that started growing around the edge. One got so tall so fast that it required both of us to pull it out. After our small weed garden was uprooted, it was time for the recycling.
The bag was out there for so long it was broken. I was convinced some wild animal was on our porch and broke through it, but in reality the bag was brittle from the sun. We thought we could just push that bag into a new trash bag, pull the strings and be done with it, but no. Bottles and cans were falling out and rolling around. We didn’t want to touch anything because we were pretty certain that there were spiders and God knows what inside this bag. Attempting to use the broom as a shovel seemed like our only plan. As my roomie and I struggled to play hockey with recycling and get the items in a new bag untouched, our other friend was over visiting, observing from the safety behind the screen door. As I am holding the broom and my roomie is holding the bag, our observer throws out that there is a spider on the bottom of the broom. I instantly drop it and we back up. As the bottom of the broom bounces up we see it. This is probably one of the biggest spiders I have seen in person and we were both struck with fear and screamed. My roomie jumps onto the only chair on the patio, then hops the wall to get away. I get on the chair ready to follow her when our friend said she is pretty sure it is dead. Still, dead or not, I did not want to be trapped on the patio with it. With a closer look, still behind the safety of the screen, our friend starts cracking up and says that the spider is a fake one that comes with the Halloween webs! We all start dying laughing, and I was so relived. If that would have been a real spider I was moving out yesterday. We didn’t even have any of those fake spiders on Halloween, but our neighbors above us did. After we calmed down, my roomie knocked on the front door to get let back in because the door was locked. This had to have been one of the most pathetic displays of girls ever. We were too scared still to take the fake spider off the end of the broom so every time we caught a glimpse of it while sweeping we jumped and flinched, forgetting about it each time.
After what took forever, requiring us to cut two other trash bags so that we could lay them flat and burrito the old broken bag into them and then shimmy the burrito bundle into a third bag, we threw the sucker away. Mission accomplished. If you were unaware, my roomie and I have had quite a few encounters with spiders, all tragic. Here is a flashback to our second encounter caught on tape in one of my early posts OMG More Spiders!
We only have a little more to pack and Tragic Girl Headquarters will be officially moving. Stay tuned!