We’re officially at the stage where you have to laugh or you’ll end up in a fetal position on the floor. Which by the way is where I was after 45 minutes of trying to find a 1/4” fine course #28 1 1/4” long flat-head metal screw at Home Depot. Right?! You know what I’m talking about. PLEASE. I didn’t even know what I was talking about when I walked into the store but after being vigorously ignored by multiple burly old men in orange aprons, I figured out that’s what I needed because they have a cool display in the fasteners section that allows you to screw in the fastener you brought with you (which, of course, I had) to determine its size so you could buy another one. To replace the one you can’t find so you can put together a laundry rack. Yes. And NO ONE there will help. I hate Home Depot but, much like Comcast, they are the only game in town, and you have to use them. After I picked myself up off the floor because, despite showing a #28 screw in their display they do not carry it, I tried again and found that my screw was metric. Damn you, Europe!
Sorry, that was a massive digression, but…it’s kind on point as well. I’ve heard from a friend that she’s found my posts to be funny which is great because I was worried that I was whining incessantly. Of course, this friend said she was laughing because she had lived through this as well, so I’m not sure what that means. Laughing at my pain? Well, OK, it is funny (seriously, she is a very sweet person so she’s not really laughing at me) so let’s cap off this week with a quick photographic look at where I am now. WARNING: it’s not pretty and may be upsetting to some viewers. Mostly those who are OCD or professional organizers.
I am a creature of habit. I have everything in a specific place, mostly because, due to MS and aging, I have to know that when I need my keys/phone/shoes/laptop they will be there. Unfortunately, we’ve been in a state of flux since leaving Portland, so for almost two years the majority of our possessions have been, well, like this:
I tried segregating boxes, as in, the photo on left is clothes and books only and on the right, kitchen and Mr. G's stuff. That didn't last.
(lower photos) This is soon-to-be my office but somehow the movers put all of Mr. G's office boxes in here and my boxes in his office. Also, I labeled the boxes on the outside but unless you have the time and space to inventory the contents you will still have to open them and dig through each one to find what you're looking for.
And this is the second iteration these boxes have been in. They were packed and stacked in different places in our rental here in Seattle. So, imagine you need a recipe/the charger for your swim watch/your fuzzy socks because Seattle is having a cold snap in July/the wine opener or God forbid, a book that you packed because you foolishly thought you would be in your finished home with all your books unpacked by mid-July, and you have a sense of where I am now. I simply have no memory left for where anything might be anymore. And this pains me. Physically. Thankfully, we seem to be nearing the end. At which point I'm going to unpack EVERYTHING and lay it on the floor, even if it has no place to go. Just so I can visually see my things again and decide where they should go.
Are you organized person or do you thrive on chaos? Which comes more easily, dealing with your things or packing them away?