Packing

Okay. So. It's confession time. I know, I know. I've only written one post and I'm already full of confessions? All I'm gonna say is...I'll likely be having a lot of confessions, so get used to it.

So. Confession of the day: I hate cleaning.

No really. I hate it. It honestly doesn't bother me too much if the dishes aren't done at the end of the day. I perpetually have a pile of clothes in my bedroom waiting to be hung back up eventually be thrown in the clothes hamper after being rejected as a possible work outfit for the day. I leave travel coffee cups in my car much longer than is hygienically acceptable. Let's face it: I'm gross.

So. Pair that laziness with the daunting task of packing up your entire apartment and you'll see what we have going on here: a situation. If it were a math equation, it would pretty much go like this:

Laziness + Packing = Meltdown

If I were a normal person, I would see packing as theraputic. A chance to go through my belongings and purge. A chance to re-organize my life and decide what's important to me. A chance to start over. A chance to sniff that delicious Sharpie smell as I label my boxes (okay, maybe not that last one). But sadly, no. Sadly, see packing as something analogous to going to the dentist---extremely necessary, but really hard to find the motivation to do.

So. Here we stand--about 30 days from Move-In Day, and all we've managed to pack is the contents of one bookshelf.

Sheesh. This could be a long month...