For the 9th time in the 24 years I have been married I’ve successfully packed up everything I own and moved it to a new home. Over the years I have acquired a certain skill set that makes the process a piece of cake. It may seem complicated and stressful, but moving doesn’t have to be a problem. Take it from me, it really is as simple as these ten foolproof steps:
Step 1: Make it fun! Enlist the help of friends! Especially the friends that have pickup trucks. They looooove helping people move. Hell, that’s why they bought the damn truck after all, to serve you. And it’s not like they have anything else to do on the weekends. They weren’t thinking about watching the big game or having a chill day or doing stuff around their own homes. Nah. They totally want to help you move that two ton credenza down three flights of stairs. They live for this shit.
Step 2: Wait until the day of moving to pack everything. Your friends will not mind at all that they got up at the buttcrack of dawn ready and raring to go while you mosey around in your PJs deciding if Grandma’s hand me down gravy boat should be boxed or sit up front in your car with a seatbelt wrapped around it for extra measure.
Step 3: Survey all your belongings and ponder how you accumulated so much crap. Like, how? And, why? You’re just one person. Or, maybe you’re two or three or even four, but still, how in the hell do you have THIS much stuff? This can’t be happening. Can it?
Step 4: Summon the power of caffeine and delude yourself into thinking this is going to be easy. You got this. You’re strong. It’s not that much stuff anyway, right? And, you have friends. Dude, this is going to be so freaking easy. You are going to rock this move.
Step 5: You so DO NOT have this. Hit the wall, literally and figuratively. See that absolutely pristine wall, the one that was painted to near perfection just a day or two ago? You’re going to smash the legs of your furniture into a solid dozen times or so, causing smudges, scrapes, and gashes that will haunt your dreams for lifetimes to come. Wince every single time it happens. Let out an audible gasp. Your soul is scarred. Succumb to failure.
Step 6: Stop for lunch and contemplate running away, moving out of state, and buying a new identity on the dark web. What do you need all this stuff for anyway? You’ve always been a minimalist at heart. Who needs a bed? You can just sleep on the floor, be one with Mother Earth. Couches are for quitters. You’re charming. You can find a new family, more friends, in whatever godforsaken town you end up in with absolutely no worldly possessions. Your kids are not going to miss you. To hell with the dog.
Step 7: Find yourself almost done, in the home stretch, and discover a closet filled with already packed boxes from previous moves. Upon this discovery you must prepare for the inevitable mental breakdown. It’s going to happen. But I’ve never moved before, Christine, you may be saying to yourself. It doesn’t matter. EVERY SINGLE TIME you move you will find a closet filled with boxes that you didn’t even know existed. It’s embedded into your DNA upon conception. And it will happen to your children and your children’s children. For generations to come everyone you know will have the closet with the forgotten boxes.
Step 8: Find a box of matches, a lighter, the pilot light from your water heater, whatever works, and set all those boxes on fire. I mean, you didn’t even know what was in them, did you? You’ve been schlepping them around from town to town for an eternity and you’ve never once opened them. There might be bars of gold in them, the Dead Sea scrolls, the answers to the meaning of life. Who cares? You are tired AF. You can’t lift anymore boxes. And your friend, the one with the pickup truck? He ditched you hours ago to meet his other friends, the ones who don’t ask him to use his pickup truck to move their stuff across town, at happy hour. You think you can fit that box in the back of your 1996 Toyota Celica, Karen? Yeah, good luck with that.
Step 9: To hell with your security deposit. Just leave all the dirty dishes in the sink. There’s probably a load of laundry in the washer growing a new bacteria resistant strain of E. coli because it’s been sitting there for so long. Leave it be. DO NOT CLEAN THE OVEN. FUCK THAT SHIT. Let the hangers stay in the closet. Don’t flush the toilet. Leave a note that says, this is your problem now, suckers.
Step 10: Repeat process in a year or two because you never learn! Oh, sure, directly after you’ve brought all your belongings into your new domicile you pledge to go through every box, downsize, make it easier for next time. YOU’LL NEVER DO THIS AGAIN! Next time you’ll move into a yurt, owning only things that can be carried on your back. Then, you get tired and all your newfound wisdom falls to the wayside. You shove any unpacked boxes into the spare closet no one uses. One, two, three, ten, twenty years later, the process begins again.