On the first anniversary of Empress Tea, I find myself going through a season of change. My next month is crammed full of weddings, trips interstate and milestone birthday parties. I was just informed as I was leaving work today that I’ve got a temporary promotion to head editor, starting Monday. And starting that same day, I’ll be signing a lease on a new apartment.
I’ve had a few years of good share-house living, with no crazy housemates, my own tiny bathroom and a decent amount of wardrobe space. I’ll be moving in with my gentleman (who has selected the pseudonym “Jesus” for blog appearances). It feels like a big step – I’ve lived with partners before, but it’s been a while and I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like. I’ll once again be able to walk around in my underwear at all times of day, but sleeping diagonally on the bed is unlikely (Jesus accuses me of being a blanket thief, so I guess I bring my own set of disadvantages). Fortunately, due to shared interests, I’ll still get to eat toast-pizza for dinner and make pillow forts in the bedroom.
Moving house is one of life’s great Stressful Events and it doesn’t help that I’m terrible at it. I have difficulty staying on task long enough. I’ll start with emptying out a drawer, find something shiny, get distracted, try on a long-forgotten dress, look something up on the internet… 5 hours later there’s stuff all over the floor, I’m wearing a weird hat and the empty boxes remain untouched.
But this time WILL be different.
It’s 3 weeks until moving day and I’ve got boxes at the ready. I’m sorting through a mountain of stuff, deciding what to keep/repurpose/sell/throw away. Since I’ve never had an organised move before, I’ve got a trail of stuff following me around that dates back to the turn of the century. I’ve found out all sorts of facts about local recycling (You can recycle batteries, but you have to get to the other side of town. You can’t recycle CDs, so your best bet is to find someone who’s still really into Jamiroquai). I’m enjoying being a bedroom archaeologist, unearthing forgotten remnants of my existence. But it’s also questions. Such as –
How many pairs of underwear does one person need? One for each day of the week, plus a couple of spares? Is there a way to re-purpose cute, yet supremely uncomfortable (hence unwearable) lingerie?
If I have a book that isn’t very good, but it has a nice cover or makes me look clever, should I keep it? What if the book IS very good, but is a super embarrassing self-help title? What about the book I ordered on Amazon when I was procrastinating, about How To Stop Procrastinating, and it hasn’t been read yet, but I’ll get around to it any day now…
How do you get rid of a broken suitcase? An old mattress? A backpack shaped like a penguin?
I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t want to end up crying on the floor, shoving my belongings into heavy-duty garbage bags while Jesus sighs and puts them in the car. Again. So I still need a little moving advice. There’s a free Fatboy Slim CD in it for you…