We have to move. Quick – pass me a valium

I can hardly breathe. I can’t sit still and I definitely can’t concentrate.   And think?  Not a chance.  My thoughts are all turning to a frantic mess.  A frantic mess all wrapped up in newspaper.  Gulp!

We have to move.

This is a really good thing.  Really. We are renovating our house and I feel privileged, lucky, thrilled, excited and like my life is about to turn into a chaotic mess.  I hate chaos and abhor mess.

The worst thing is that we have to move twice – out while the renovation is being done and back in when it is complete.   Yuggh. Mess and Chaos squared.

I understand that thousands of people move every day and there is a clear end in sight and it will happen and I will survive, but I am the type of person who has to breathe into a  paper bag when the carpets are being cleaned because I cannot stand the sight of the furniture out of place.

My thoughts are consumed with packing and moving.  Mr Pencil has been kind and reassuring and he keeps patting me on the shoulder and saying “baby steps” and all I can think is if we use baby steps we will never move all our stuff.  He has wisely suggested that we use professional packers.  All well and good but how will they doooooo it?

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There is so much stuff.  And in so many places.  And irritatingly we are still getting more.  Even today.  Mr Pencil made me do shopping.  For some reason I cannot fathom he said we still have to eat at home.  We still have to buy dishwashing liquid and tinned tuna and fruit and millions of other items that take up space.  But as I bring the groceries into the car I can’t help feeling stupid – why are we bringing more things in when we just have to take them out?  Can a person not live on take away for a few weeks?

There are cupboards full of memories, papers, boxes, games and trinkets, there are shelves stacked with books, files, folders and ornaments, there is a kitchen filled with food, dishes, cutlery, crockery and appliances and they all have to be packed.  There is our beds and our clothes and Little Pencil’s toys and boxes and boxes of his babyhood stored for posterity. And stuff.  So much stuff.

Earlier today I went to look for something in Little Pencil’s “special drawer”.  This is a drawer next to his bed where he puts “special” stuff.  When I tell you that I went there once to get the nail scissors and once to find his favourite piece of lego and it took me well over 5 minutes to find both items individually – you will understand that “special” to Little Pencil is basically anything that he does not know where else to store.  How are we going to pack all that.  Will we have to box it, will we have to put it in a plastic bag, will we have to burn it?

And I just remembered that I have about 679 photos to put into albums and if I don’t do that soon I will have to pack the photos and the albums separately and for some reason that makes me feel like I cannot breathe. And the plants and the vases and the paintings.  They also make me feel short of breath.  And the thought of packing the laundry makes me feel like I need to clean my brain with bleach.  It is all too much.

I am not even going to mention the garage (aka the storage pit).  In fact as I typed the word garage I swallowed my own vomit.

I may just donate the contents of my house to anyone willing to sort it all out for me.  Or I may just take that valium you are offering me.