The short version of this year’s moving woes:
Friday night found us standing on the sidewalk below my apartment building, surrounded by boxes, and taking apart furniture we hadn’t planned to take apart because it wouldn’t fit otherwise. This to the entertainment of passersby, of course.
Saturday found us driving to the Netherlands, unloading the truck in the pouring rain, and shocking my mom with how much stuff I had.
On Sunday, I reassembled the dressers I had previously taken apart so my mom could use them. (They’re Ikea, so you can imagine the grumbling that went on while I deciphered the diagrams and figured out which parts belonged to which dresser and kept on losing the screwdriver I had in my hand not two seconds ago.)
On Monday, then, I repacked all my boxes into three categories: store at mom’s house, store at dad’s house, take with me to Salt Lake City. (This lessened my mom’s shock, as a lot of my things are going to my dad’s house. Thank goodness for divorced parents, I guess.)
In contrast, moving to Salt Lake is going to be easy, with my one-suitcase-restriction. I have to say, that sounds pretty good right about now.