Last time I moved it was cross country, from Boston to San Francisco. I brought three suitcases (thank you, Southwest) full of artwork bundled up in my clothes. My parents shipped a box or two of books, and that was it. I was free as a bird on the wing! Now I own so. much. stuff. And it's not like I buy crap just for the sake of having it (well, maybe pretty dresses that have no place in the Northern California climate) - it's all the kind of things you need to run a household, like plates and mugs and electronics and curtain rods and chairs and oh my god this list could go on forever.
However. It will get done, the move will happen, and my mom is here to help. That woman can pack like nobody's business - watching her fill a moving van is like watching a master play Tetris, only with more cursing.
And once we've moved, I get to take on the task of prettying up what is a lovely but outdated apartment. New linoleum floors, new light fixtures, covering of the kitchen cabinets, and god only knows what else. Will this pull me out of my funk, or drag me deeper into it? Let's take bets!