the cardboard box blues

i had to get away from the bookshelf. it was being way to difficult, giving me attitude and sass. i was trying to fix it ; it wanted nothing to do with me. it refused to listen to soft, comforting talk, and did not respond to being yelled at. after it scraped my leg, dribbled glue on the carpet, and fell apart again, i kicked it hard and stormed away.

i swear, i am a sane and rational person. i’m even usually even considered ‘nice,’ yet i somehow lost it on an inanimate object. although it is the time of month where i start to lose patience with things, hate myself, and cry a lot, hormones cannot take the blame entirely. i wonder if the DSM has listed ‘relocation anxety’ as an official disorder yet.

it seems moving is making me a fucking lunatic. i am frantic, manic, at most times. i can think of nothing but packing, moving, carrying the heavy furniture. i’m impatient, moody, sensitive. moving has taken over my brain, and is not being too friendly. it happens every time – i think i should be used to it by now. If my count is accurate, this will be the seventh move in about ten years. most were short distances, one was major. all were difficult, stressful, and exhausting, both physically and emotionally.

i’m not sure what it is that is so upsetting and difficult. it’s a lot of work, yes. i’ve been spending all my non-working time packing, organizing, and cleaning. i’m stiff and sore in the morning from the physical work (i take the blame there for not being in better shape, but i can still whine about it a little). i can’t walk from my bedroom to my kitchen without hopping over boxes and dodging piles of stuff. my favorite things are in boxes, and my fingers are crossed that nothing breaks. there is a roll of tape and a sharpie in every room.

all i see is disorder everywhere – i used the term ‘visually stressful’ the other day, to myself, and was immediately annoyed by the obnoxiousness of such a phrase. i corrected myself, using the proper term ‘a fucking mess,’ while thinking of george carlin – ‘it’s not ‘post traumatic stress disorder – it’s SHELL SHOCK!’ gotta keep myself grounded, right? moving is not a time to get uppity.

i need boxes, i need days off, i need newspapers, i need caffeine and cigarettes and drugs. i need friends to help lug boxes, i need it to not get too hot in the next two weeks.

anyway, i’ve already taken too much time to write this. the break gave me a bit of sanity, though. i may not harm any more furniture today. i will, however, daydream about owning bookshelves that don’t fall apart, and wonder what it’s like to have movers handle all this shit.


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