Packing Day
Today has been ridiculous. Though we’ve made an enormous “give-away” pile, and though we’ve sold almost everything we’d hoped to, the fact of the matter is that when two people cohabitate for a year (and when one of those people has lived in Barcelona for two years), stuff accumulates. Every one of our bags is over the weight limit, and we’ll each check and extra bag as well; we’ll be spending a small fortune in baggage fees, but it’s far cheaper than trying to ship things home, which would be a gigantic fortune (for one box). So, our sheepskin pelt is shoved in with Andrew’s critter pants; our books are “salted in” (Andrew’s favorite phrase) with our socks and shirts. This is going to be the most cumbersome, exhausting trip of all time, made no easier by the fact that we have not one but TWO connections.
I want to go back to the playa.
Some things are easy to leave behind. Both of us have officially worn out our clothes; as I tossed things into the give-away pile, it was surprising to see how many things I’ve had for upwards of three years. Many things have holes. We are both kind of a sorry sight right now, in desperate need of a shopping trip. Other things are harder to part with, yet it’s necessary: some books, my plants (obviously), some wine glasses I like.
There is definitely something healthy and lightening about making a clean sweep of things every year or so—this is the second time within eighteen months that I’ve pretty much gotten down to zero. It’s satisfying, in a way. But it will be a happy day once all of our books are actually on bookshelves, once we can buy things without the idea that we’ll just be getting rid of them in a couple of months, once we can officially say we will never buy the same Ikea furniture for a second or third time, only to sell it and rebuy it all over again. For now, though, we’re mobile enough to get ourselves back to the U.S. with only a few extra bags to weigh us down. This time, we’ll be those annoying people at the airport tying up the line at the check-in counter, but ah well.
More packing remains.
I want to go back to the playa.
Some things are easy to leave behind. Both of us have officially worn out our clothes; as I tossed things into the give-away pile, it was surprising to see how many things I’ve had for upwards of three years. Many things have holes. We are both kind of a sorry sight right now, in desperate need of a shopping trip. Other things are harder to part with, yet it’s necessary: some books, my plants (obviously), some wine glasses I like.
There is definitely something healthy and lightening about making a clean sweep of things every year or so—this is the second time within eighteen months that I’ve pretty much gotten down to zero. It’s satisfying, in a way. But it will be a happy day once all of our books are actually on bookshelves, once we can buy things without the idea that we’ll just be getting rid of them in a couple of months, once we can officially say we will never buy the same Ikea furniture for a second or third time, only to sell it and rebuy it all over again. For now, though, we’re mobile enough to get ourselves back to the U.S. with only a few extra bags to weigh us down. This time, we’ll be those annoying people at the airport tying up the line at the check-in counter, but ah well.
More packing remains.
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