Since matriculating from college (and even during college) I have moved at least once a year, and have been thankful that each time I've had wonderful friends willing to help lift the heavy crap. You'd think I'd have an efficient strategy by now for packing and organizing, or a cannot refuse bribe for help, but I don't. I'm moving on Saturday, and I only really just started "packing" yesterday and asked for help today.
But I suppose I do have a strategy of sorts... it's evolved over the years and mainly just consists of me getting increasingly lazy and just throwing shit in bins then cramming them in my car. Really, the strategy is to just not ever fully unpack...
What's funny about this move, though, is the dog. Over the past couple days he's noticed the total chaos that has taken over the living and dining rooms and has taken to spending copious amounts of time outside chasing his tail and/or thumping the cat and/or moping around with his blanket. He just doesn't know what to do with himself amongst all the commotion. I mean, look at how pathetic he looks! Like I just robbed him of his reason for existing...
(and yes, that is my room. Please keep your focus on the dog and not the strewn about clothing on the floor. Thanks.)
However, it is quite entertaining to watch and provides a nice break from what seems to be the exhausting avoidance of packing. Thankfully he's not too melodramatic, but I'm positive he won't be pleased when he's required to spend his days outside
without a dog door. *gasp!* He is a bit of a chicken shit when it comes to, well, everything, so I have a feeling this form of entrapment might hit him a little hard at first. But he'll have access to the garage with nice warm blankets and will have a new friend to commiserate with, so I'm sure he'll be so twitterpated over his favorite blanky and new friend love, he'll get over it quickly.
Pictures of the new house all set up and cute coming soon. :)
slr
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