I unpack. I unpack. I unpack. I sort things into neat boxes. I shuffle boxes around and turn them into shelves full of magical books, craft tools, and objets d’art. I unpack some more.
I keep thinking sometime this has got to end. Moreover, sometime I have got to reach a point where the apartment actually looks nice enough to live in, and I can put up all the stuff I really want to see on my walls.
But I’m not there yet, and I won’t be tonight, either.
I’m astonished by how much unpacking, organization, etc. is involved in getting the place set up properly. Even when I thought I was properly organized, I come across more pockets of chaos and have to re-sort and re-box things so they’re genuinely unpacked, and not just thrown into a corner. Today I have been sorting through the garage, moving stacks of craft-stuff around and organizing them neatly onto shelves. It’s been three hours and I’ve now got a nice shelf full of neatly organized craft things–but there are still three or four boxes to go, and the living/dining room is still a mess. It never ends!!
I think maybe another week of unpacking, and I’ll be done. Of course, I said that last week, too.
Well, at least the futon-cover-material is on its way, and by the time it actually arrives I should be set up to handle it! I have the sewing machine out and on a shelf, and I actually know where my thread, notions, etc. are. So that’s one bright spot.
The other bright spot is Mike, the guy I’ve been dating– here’s a link to his blog, if you’re curious. We’re getting along quite well–taking it slow, but it seems to be progressing, at least enough to introduce him to the rest of the world. Which makes me happy.
Meanwhile, it’s back to unpacking. Next on the agenda is digging The Traveling Tiger out of the box he got unceremoniously dumped in during tonight’s re-re-re-packing, and putting him back in his place of honor on my desk.
(The Traveling Tiger is a tiny little stuffed tiger who went with me through all of Southeast Asia, in my backpack. I have photos of him in all sorts of odd places. I almost lost him in Laos–he fell out of my pack into a fisherman’s boat–and I went running down to the launch site to see if I could find him. When the fisherman produced him, I tipped the guy $5 (a week’s salary in Laos) on the spot. They were all laughing at the silly farang, but what the hell–I was and am very fond of the little guy.)
