Living In A Box

There were only three boxes left to unpack.

Speaking as someone who has lived with at least some of their possessions in cardboard boxes for an entire year, now, having only three boxes left to unpack was significant.

Three.  Just three.

The three boxes contained CD's, mostly, and there was a lot of "Oh Thank God I didn't leave this in Mobile" going on when I unpacked those boxes this evening.  Finding...Comfort Eagle, for example.  A girl needs her Cake.  We'll just tuck that in the purse for the commute tomorrow...

The record collections are usually among the most hotly contested things at the end of any relationship--they write whole scenes in movies about people coming to blows over who gets what.

When I packed, I did it knowing that I would not have the luxury of returning if I had forgotten anything.  It was a 1300 mile move, so whatever choices I made, those choices would have to be final.  Sure, I suppose I could ask the ex to mail me stuff, but, oh wait, never mind.  I am STILL waiting to get the title to the car to which I now own the loan.  Very, very convenient for him to hold the title to a car for which I am financially responsible.  Don't get me started.

I made all those packing and leaving choices during a week of the most extreme emotional upheaval of my life.  I knew it wasn't going to make any sense to me the next morning, but I never pictured myself standing in my kitchen six months later, wondering why I have two ice cream scoops but no colander.  Also?  I have an ice cream MAKER, but, didn't think to grab one of the 27 decent frying pans.

Thinking back on it now, I can't recall my criteria at packing time--what, besides space considerations, made me think, "No, HE should have this..."?  Because I know I did a lot of that--I examined things and decided if it was something to which he would have a stronger emotional attachment than me.  I actually DID that!

Of course, he had a big tag sale a month after I left, and sold all of the stuff I had agonized over.  I REALLY need to get over this notion that people think about things as much as I do.  Nooooobody thinks about things as much as I do.  Nobody.


For some reason, I packed only the really crappy cooking pans, too.  It would almost be worth the plane ticket to go raid my former kitchen.  I'm sure the title for the car is somewhere on that black hole known as Jim's Bedroom Dresser.

The three boxes are now unpacked.  I no longer live with cardboard.  This will take some getting used to.  I'd completely forgotten what it was like to have everything in its place.  I don't think everything has been in it's place for more than just a year--more like 9 years.  Perhaps this will take more getting used to than I thought.