Packing. It sucks. It's stupid. I hate it. Especially when dealing with the contents of everything I own, which I am quickly finding out is a LOT. Apparently I've been nesting this past year.
With packing comes the sorting, the deciding of what should be donated, sold, packed, ignored, etc. How do I decide which books to leave behind, which pieces of art? That's like asking me, “Hey, you don't really need that lung, do you?” Yes. I do. I like breathing, thank you very much! It's refreshing to get rid of some things, but really, I like my books, all of them! And the artwork! (Don't even get me started on the pottery or rugs. I don't even want to consider parting with any of those items.)
What am I having the hardest time letting go of?
Why is Ohio so far away?! I want to take that sofa with me everywhere! I think I sleep more often on it (and it's only a love seat) than my bed. In all honesty, my mattress here sucks, a lot, and wreaks havoc on my already problematic back. Hence the bonding with the sofa. The sofa that I got for a steal of a deal. The sofa that made my cavernous room feel more homey and welcoming. The sofa that was the perfect fit for my preppy, quirky personality. The sofa that won't fit in my Toyota Corolla as I drive cross country.
Excuse me as I go through everything I own and get rid of it so I can figure out how to make that sofa fit.