Packing...again...sigh

Packing…again… sigh:

Yesterday, I finally sucked it up and started packing…again… sigh.  Last March we moved from our home of eight years to our current location and I vowed then that I would not move again (read: pack, lug, haul, sweat and cry) for at least another eight years.  Isn’t it always the way?  As soon as you vow not to do something, you can pretty much count on the fact you’ll be doing that very thing sooner than you can imagine.  As I packed, I thought of all of the reasons I hate packing:

8 Reasons I hate packing:

1.      Organize my life into a set amount of boxes (per a binding agreement from the moving company).

2.      Dealing with a time deadline for point #1.

3.      Sealing a box and realizing I have more stuff to put into it.

4.      Disposing of perfectly good  items because of point #1.

5.      All of the mismatched socks – the dilemma… throw them out or move them?  Also, see point #4.

6.      Learning to live amongst the boxes and feeling like a hoarder with the all of the cardboard box pathways through the house.

7.      Realizing I am more of a pack rat than I’d like to admit.

8.      Picking up boxes equal to my own body weight (after all I have only X amount of boxes and I am a pack rat apparently).

If I were to choose the number one reason to hate packing, it would have to be for a reason that is not on the above list.  It is finding a box of photos and getting side lined for hours with all of the memories of the people I am  leaving behind.  Each photo holds a memory of some happy occasion with people I love so dearly.  Lamenting is a fairly good word to use here though I’m not sure if that reaches deep enough.   Bittersweet comes to mind as well… I love looking at the photos but I hate leaving all of  my friends and family behind.  I wish I could pack them up and take them with me.

My two BFF's Jessica (on the left) and Laura (on the right) with me on our girly girl trip in October of 2005.  Oh, what fun we had that weekend! When I found this picture, I stared into space for a full five minutes, getting misty eyed and remembering what I could from that weekend (hey, it was Miami and we were single!).