Okay, the move is complete, the packages unpacked, the boxes unboxed, the prisoners released, the wires wired, the birds de-catsed, the rabbit imprisoned, and the last rabid dog ambling down the street has been shot by Atticus.
Now that the move is completely complete and the massive stack of boxes are hidden in the garage to make a new abode for the Brown Recluse Spiders, I can get back to typing. Whether that is good or bad is completely dependent on how you feel about what has happened so far.
In the meantime, moving is painful but cathartic. We take the same view as NASA concerning freight – there is a certain cost per pound. We are stingy with that cost because, like the beginning of the show “Fame,” we are paying in sweat. The question we ask ourselves is “do I want to carry THAT up three flights of stairs?” Very often, the answer is “um, no.”
Yet however much we shed, we seem to have too many things when we unpack. Was the Buddha right? Are our possessions merely contributing to our sense of unhappiness? Are they weighing us down? Is our desire for things leading to frustration at our inability to get said things?
Or was the Buddha a very poor person who had no stuff and it was all just a case of sour grapes?
Anyway, we still have too much stuff. As Maria Bamford said, we’re not rich, but we have a lot of shit that we’re not willing to share.
There are still fiddly-bits and odds and sods that are still piled up in ways that my wife hates, but we’re carving a home out of this mess. We’ve already had two dinner parties and a babysitter visit!
In the meantime, here is the view from outside my office.
Not bad at all. Suck it, Buddha!