I’m moving house and if I never see another box of stuff or ancient dust bunny under recently moved furniture I will be a happy writer.
I’ve been in a three bedroom house for almost 8 years and it’s amazing how much crap-collecting this encourages. Previously, I’ve moved every two to three years and so kept everything pretty streamlined. But now … now my life seems to be reduced to sedimentary layers, a ziggurat of shoes and Lascaux cave paintings of cosmetics.
Packing everything up to move into a two bedroom apartment and also accommodate another person’s stuff is challenging to say the least. But it’s a good cleansing purge. I’m finding that old ruthlessness that used to keep me crap-free for a very long time has returned.
The hardest thing is the books. About ten bags of boxes have been banished from my life. It was painful – letting go of any book is hard for me – but realistically, if it didn’t pass the “I cannot live without this book for I will want to read it over and over again” test, then it went.
I will miss the resident geckoes and I will miss the mighty jacaranda tree in the backyard.
But I won’t miss the mozzie infestations in summer, or the cold wooden floors in winter, nor the locks on doors that decide randomly not to work, nor the shower that either has too much water pressure or none at all.
But one moves on … and hopefully digs out from under sedimentary layers.