Moving house is a strange process - putting things in boxes, then putting those boxes in other boxes, then putting those boxed boxes in still more boxes. I've also been going through my disordered papers, and disordering them in a different disorder while hurling them willy-nilly into my boxing of boxed boxes for later unboxing and re-disordering.
Last night, as I packed away just about the last of my books and papers, I came across an interesting little booklet that I got for Christmas:
Procrastinators SOS 2008 Planner
*Snorts* Well - at least I lived up to the first word of the title...!
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10 comments:
One of the things that scares me about moving is the idea of packing. I'm quite ok with a different home, all that stuff, but the packing, the rearranging, it gives me the heebie jeebies.
I wish some people would invent a kind of telekinesis where you could just psychically displace all your stuff from one residence into your next place, and it would go to your next house all nicely arranged just where you wanted it - no need to figure out what goes where or stack all the linen!
It would put couriers and moving trucks out of business but I would be a very happy chappy.
In relation to the movers, I learned on Saturday that 'We'll be there around two' apparently means 'We'll be there at ten to four.'
I'm beginning work on the inaugural Removalists Dictionary straightaway. It's a high time there was communication between the two races - removalists and non-removalists.
I once paid $200 to move less than a kilometre. Actually, my dad paid because he was there and feeling all macho or some shit. That's not the point though. They were paid $200 for like an hour's work and they still bitched about how heavy the boxes of books were.
Yeah. I got booked $250. Would have been $300 if it was a day later because of overtime. Apparently it was a two hour minimum - added on to some half-hour travel fee from the station. Hey, it's the price I pay for laziness and disorganisation, I'm comfortable with that.
The guys were all right, though - Israeli tourists, so it wasn't all bad.
I look forward to the imminent arrival of Electricity to my household: dragging me straight from the dark ages into the 21st century!
You've either never done this before, Tim, or you are frightfully disorganised.
Just frightfully disorganised - that about sums up my life, really.
What's your new house like?
I'm betting on frightfully disorganised, Dale.
Second floor in a block of flats. The kitchen smells of cigarettes (yum!). Smells seem to stick around, not sure what to do about that yet as airing the place would turn it into a freezer in the Melbourne weather. No TV yet. Just a bookshelf, and when you feel like having a break from staring at the bookshelf, you turn and stare at the adjacent wall. Ubiquituous butterfly stickers on the kitchen window, which also has a remarkable panoramic view of the next-door neighbour's roofs (I can sound my barbaric yawp across the rooftops of humanity, but I won't.) Neighbours: students on second floor, seem to have a fondness for listening to heavy metal on the weekends. Folks below may have been stoned on the weekend. Were listening to The Darkness and Guns 'N' Roses on Sunday, loud. But I met them afterwards, they seem nice.
Boxes everywhere. Disorganised as hell. Two frying pans, no pots; one couch, no chairs; one mattress, no bed; one pillow, no cushions; one fridge, no washing machine.
Yep, I'll be doing some furnishing over the weekend...
Sounds like a great photo-blog-opportunity, TimT!
Or poet's corner time!
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