Finding the floor

Apparently there is a wood floor under the boxes. I found it yesterday and made Ellen come over to take a look. It's fascinating. It runs from one pile of boxes across the small open space, to the next pile of boxes.

Yesterday was a miserable/glorious day of sorting boxes that ended with neatly stacked shelves in the garage, boxes all numbered and cataloged, with room to move in the apartment. And an incredibly sore back and low blood sugar brain freeze. I should be giving the guy at the drive through window the update each time I go there for dinner after 9pm. "Hey man, got through the dining room boxes today! Cataloged another 15 in the garage too!"

"That's fantastic, Steve, you're really going to be glad you are using Excel for the cataloging. Remember to select all, then sort the table. Here's the Coke and the fries. See you next week."

There was a moment when I ran out of packing tape yesterday - Yes, I hear you thinking "packing tape? but you're already moved in, aren't you?" and the answer is: big boxes ÷ small boxes = sane closet. Anyway, running out of packing tape. Can't move forward to the next task. Walk down to the grocery store three blocks away for more packing tape, unshowered, crazy "around the house" shirt that looks like an eskimo party shirt, torn jeans with fabric flap on the knee, scowling. And now I'm walking among the happy Sunday afternoon shoppers at Safeway. I think I was quick enough to be out before the manager could catch me. But that was the low point in the day.

Garage sale is a few weeks away, anyone need an insulated lunchbag? How about a tall, thin, bamboo standing lamp? This is the preview sale, any takers?

The Maze of Cardboard

The apartment is stacks of cardboard that shift and change every day. We can't find the salad spinner, we can't find the water filter, some furniture doesn't fit where we had hoped. That thing is happening where important paperwork is beginning to scurry around the house while we're not looking - you find a bill on the mantle, some mortgage paperwork in the guest room wedged between two boxes in a stack, and an important receipt is at large. I found the remotes for the DVD player in the file boxes, laying on top of the "credit report" files.

Your brain is pulling apart trying to figure out why there's so much mismatch in your life. It's like a dream/nightmare. I would not be surprised if my fifth grade teacher walked out of the kitchen and handed me an otter.

This weekend we'll push through most of it and get some sanity back. For now we're just happy the kitchen is functional and we've had some fun dinners at home.