Thinking Outside the Boxes

It takes more to get me discouraged than having to undo all the packing I did to be ready for a closing date on my house that was way earlier than I either desired or expected. I've wasted lots more time doing lots more useless things over the years; this is child's play.

Really. It's child's play. Or it seemed to be, yesterday, when I discovered the fastest way to get heavy boxes that, as it turns out, are too large to fit through any of my wide variety of closet doors, from the second floor to the basement is to push them from the top step and watch them tumble end over end until they come to a crashing halt at the landing. I watched, wide-eyed, as box number one bounced its way down to the first floor hallway, coming to a dead stop on the wood floor. When I realized it had not only remained in tact but also landed right side up I literally squealed with delight. I am easily amused.

Box number two posed a dilemma. I considered dashing down the stairs to move number one out of the way, but I decided it would be far more entertaining to see whether the impact would cause box number one to slide over or explode. And frankly I was too tired to make another trip down and up, so I held my breath, gave number two a gentle shove, and hoped for the best. It doesn't hurt to dream.

Things could have been much worse. There was not so much an explosion as a caving in, which made box one look a little bit like Quasimodo, but whatever really important items I had stowed away inside remained stowed away inside, ready at a moment's notice, now, to move to a new home and do little more than take up space. Just like they always did. Eventually, the first set of boxes all made it down to the basement, bumped and bruised but no worse for wear.

I was ready for round two at the crack of dawn this morning. Thinking the sound of large boxes crashing down entire flights of stairs might not be well received by my still sleeping daughter and dog, I decided to take a more hands on approach. Which is how my right hand somehow got stuck between a really big box and a really hard and quite inflexible wall and immediately blew up like a purple balloon. Not quite as hideous as the colossal indentation on the big box, but last time I looked, boxes don't feel pain. So I'm bumped and bruised for a change, but, as always, no worse for wear.

Frankly, I'm not sure what I should do with all these boxes now that they are secreted away in the basement. It does seem a little silly to unpack only to end up packing again, although I am a firm believer in Murphy's Law. Bring an umbrella, it won't rain. Leave the umbrella home, there will be a monsoon. Leave the boxes packed, the house will not sell. Unpack them, there will be a bidding war and a ridiculously short closing date. Hmm, I suppose I'm in charge, which would be great if I knew what I really wanted. Maybe if I split the baby, unpack half, I'll sell but get to stay for a bit.

Yes, that's what I'll do. It feels good, having control over my own destiny.