1580: No, Not the Boxes

Well, we’re nearly there. We own a house, Andie has spent most of this week redecorating it (and done a great job) while I’ve been working, and we have the movers booked for Wednesday.

All that remains to do is to pack everything u–

Shit.

I really, really hate packing to move house. I also hate unpacking at the other end, but that’s marginally better because you get to find new homes for things and figure out aesthetically pleasing arrangements for things like video games and board games and other stuff you might want to display.

But before you can do that, you have to put everything into boxes. And inevitably you don’t have quite enough boxes, or you can’t quite fit everything in one “category” neatly into one box, meaning you end up dumping things in semi-randomly as you get more and more tired and annoyed at the whole hideous process, until eventually you simply resort to grabbing handfuls of possibly related things, throwing them into a box in a disorganised heap, then taping the box up, writing “STUFF” or “MISC” on it and ensuring it’s the very, very last thing you unpack. (In the process, you’ll almost certainly realise that something you really, really need is in there, but you just won’t be able to face digging through the mountains of crap that are almost certainly piled on top of it.)

In other words, yes, I am really not looking forward to packing everything up. I’m thinking I might take the opportunity to ditch some stuff — primarily books that are likely never going to be read again and clothes that haven’t been worn for years in some cases — and minimise the packing of unnecessary crap. I know it’s still going to be a massive pain, but at least we don’t have to actually pick up and carry stuff ourselves this time. I hate that even more than putting things in boxes, particularly as the weather seems to have suddenly got hot and humid lately, so I’m more than happy to pay people money to carry heavy things for me.

Mostly I just want the tedious side of moving to be over and done with and this (our old) place to be clean so I can settle down, relax a bit and look forward to — hopefully — a significant number of years in the same place. Outside of living back with my parents, I’ve never stayed in the same place for longer than about two years, tops, and the prospect of getting to stay somewhere for a significant amount of time — a place where I don’t have to feel guilty about hammering nails or picture-hooks into the walls — is, frankly, extremely appealing. The fact it’s big enough to have guests over — we have a spare bedroom for the first time in my life — is something I’m particularly happy about, and I’m looking forward to actually inviting people over to stay at some point.

So it’s nice to look forward to what the eventual goal is. But I’m conscious that we’re moving in a few days and there are a lot of things to put into boxes. So I supposed we’d better start soon, huh?

#oneaday Day 585: Moving Day, Part 2

Getting there. Have driven 150 miles in a van today — not as terrifying as I was expecting, as the van was a lot easier to handle than the last one I drove.

The day opened with lots of packing of stuff into said van. This is a procedure by turns exhausting, frustrating, infuriating and stressful. And occasionally — for brief snatches of time when that box fits in just right like that long Tetris piece that comes along at just the right moment — satisfying. But that doesn’t happen much.

I didn’t get everything in the van, not because it didn’t fit but because I got to that stage where you’re so tired you want to throw things. I also determined that if I didn’t set off then I probably wouldn’t, making hiring a van somewhat unnecessary.

Still, it’s done now — the van is unloaded and I’m lying in bed, prepared to get up super early to drive 150 miles back to return the van, then drive all the way back again with hopefully the final load of stuff.

Then I get to unpack. Yay. That’s the fun bit though — you get to put stuff where it lives, and you end up with a finished house.

Nearly there.

#oneaday, Day 233: Keep On Movin’

I hate moving house. I really hate moving house. And yet it’s one of those things that becomes necessary at least several times during your life. Still, I feel like I have done it more than many people, largely due to the fact I moved pretty much every year since starting university, until I ended up in this current place, which I actually lasted about two years in.

I didn’t move every year through choice in most cases. Most of the time there were extenuating circumstances which caused the move. I moved after my first year at university because I wanted to live in a house, not a hall of residence. I moved after my second year because the flat I was in was a shithole and the cheeky bastard landlord put the rent, which was already expensive, up. I moved after my third year because my housemate was leaving town because she’d finished university and I was staying on to do my teacher training. I moved after my fourth year because I was no longer a student. I moved after that year because the beautiful, lovely flat I was living in was reclaimed by its landlord for her daughter. I moved after the next year because my housemate was, again, moving and also the house we were in had damp, mould and smelled slightly of gas. I moved after the next year because I was in Aldershot and was hunting down a job back in Southampton. Also, Aldershot is a shithole. I moved after the next year because the flat I was staying in had damp and mould. Again. And the circumstances under which I am leaving this particular place have already been well documented elsewhere on this blog.

So I’m pretty tired of it. There are a bunch of things that always, always cause stress to do with moving. First of all is never having enough boxes, and ending up having to spend more on boxes than on anything else you’ve ever spent money on ever. I remember when I was younger, our local supermarket used to have a little “pen” near its cash tills with hundreds of discarded boxes that you could just take for yourself. I haven’t seen a supermarket do this for ages. It’s probably some sort of Health and Safety Hazard. What if someone gets trapped inside a box? What if it’s used to carry a bomb? What if Solid Snake is around?

So boxes have to be acquired via alternative means, be it hassling friends for them, finding them discarded in disgusting places or actually purchasing them for vast expense from packaging stores. I went for the latter option largely for convenience more than anything else, and at least it means I’ve got some decent-quality, new boxes that (hopefully) won’t fall apart when I’m lifting the bastards into a van later.

Then of course there’s the packing process itself. Bundle things into a box, seal it up and then suddenly, inevitably, something catches your eye. Something which should be in that box you just sealed up. Something which could easily fit in that box you just sealed up. But it’s not in the box. It’s sitting there on the side, mocking you quietly. So you swear profusely, bundle the thing into another box, consider writing the fact that you’ve bundled said thing into the “wrong” box onto the side of its new home, figure that nah, you’ll remember where you put it, pack it in there and then six months later when you still haven’t unpacked half your boxes and realise you really need that thing that you put in the wrong box, you discover that you can’t, in fact, remember where you put said thing because you didn’t write it on the box.

As part of the packing process, you also reach the inevitable “small bits” stage. No, this is not a euphemism. This is a reference to the stage in the packing where you’ve pretty much cleared all your bookcases and cupboards and all that is left are hundreds, thousands, of small little bits and pieces, none of which can be justifiably assigned a complete box. So you end up with at least one box marked “JUNK” which contains miscellaneous paraphernalia of such diversity that should you ever dare dip your hand into it, you’ll come out with something completely different and unrelated every time. And inevitably, there’s too much “JUNK” for one box, making you think you should have perhaps organised it a bit better, but it’s too late now.

Then you have to move said boxes and furniture into a van. That’s today’s job. And the van will be arriving shortly. So I’d probably better get on with it.