I am living in a sea of boxes.  Moments ago I unpacked a used candle glass that in no way whatsoever needed to make its way to my new dwelling.  It’s an old mason jar so maybe at one time I thought it was cute.  I don’t now.  Now it is just one more thing to unpack.
Mantras like, “Only touch things once,” keep running through my brain.  Putting things where they belong the first time you handle it only works when you know where that place is.  I keep wandering around aimlessly moving things from one stack to another.  I am quickly running out of places.
My friend Amy, after seeing how dinky my new apartment is, said, “It’s a good thing you lived in New York and are used to small spaces.”  “Unfortunately,” I laughed, “In the interim I spent eight plus years filling an entire three bedroom home myself.”  I don’t know what made me think I could fit all my belongings in here.
Even though I’ve been unpacking for hours I haven’t accomplished much.  I’m in a daze.  And guess what, there are still a few things back at my house.  Ugh!
I’m not complaining.  I really do love this little place and am very blessed to be able to live here.  It’s just going to take some time to make it work.
And again, I am reminded, this is just ME!  My mom moved our family dozens of times over the years.  She had to take care of EVERYONE’S stuff; not just hers.  I’m sure I could have handled that as well, but it’s just another way I realize how, as a single gal, my life is much different than my married counterparts.
School starts in five weeks.  Hopefully I’ll be settled by then!
Question:  What has been your worst move?