Moving...oh NO!

Moving. That dreaded six letter word.

I don’t think there’s a person out there who really enjoys moving-except maybe moving men. I don’t think even THEY enjoy moving.

There’s nothing fun and exciting about having to pack all your items in boxes. It involves too much organization for my taste. You have to put all the plates in one box, label it PLATES. Don’t forget to write FRAGILE on there too, or else you won’t have those plates when you open that box again.

I’m moving this weekend, and I’m dreading every moment of it. Is it bad that I haven’t even started to pack yet? That has to be bad I think...

There are numerous elements of “the move” that aren’t enjoyable. First, you have to consider your weekend is completely wasted. You work hard all week, expect to kick back, relax...oh WAIT...you have to carry large amounts of boxes and couches all weekend.

Then, you have the actual packing. I come home from work (again, expecting to relax), and I have to take all my belongings and shove and cram them into boxes. Then write clever little things on the box so I can remember what I just shoved in there.

Most importantly, and possibly the least pleasant part of the entire thing-physically moving your things. I’m incredibly weak, so I get to just carry boxes mostly...but I have been known to carry a couch or two in my time (I’m completely joking, I haven’t carried a full size couch ever). Up and down the stairs, all day, no end in sight. You go upstairs, expecting one box to be left, and there’s a whole other room full of boxes you forgot about.

Wish me luck guys. I’m going to need it.