Sqwark

I like to think of myself as quite a rational person. But it has become apparent to me that I have no adequate defences against the chaos that descends when one packs up a life. I keep finding myself sitting on the floor surrounded by piles of clothes and high school memorabilia and Tupperware that would put a bower bird to shame with not the foggiest notion of what to do next and an overwhelming desire to either cry or punch someone.

I hate packing with a vengeance and when we moved into our current house I told Matt I never wanted to move ever again – a comment I just know he’s very stoically resisting quoting back at me, since this whole Nepal venture was my brainchild. But that move was nothing compared to this. Not just packing to transport, but packing to store; not just packing of any description, but also mail redirecting, house renting, dog billeting, bill forecasting and paying, and so on and on and on.

I recognise that I am not the first person to have endured this particular form of torture, but the whole assault is exacerbated by the fact that Matt and I are both hoarders. I have progressed to the acceptance stage while Matt is still in denial but the truth remains. This means that we not only have little boxes full of basketball collector’s cards popping up left, right and centre, but that we are physically unable to throw them away. St Vinnie’s has helped alleviate this condition to an extent on some fronts, but even for a good cause, I am unable to part with my perishing purple feather boa or my jellybean jumpsuit from when I was 8.

Only slightly less traumatic than the actual packing experience is the realisation that if we ever are to cure ourselves of the hoarding affliction, the time is now – but the window of opportunity is closing rapidly and there’re no indicators that either of us is prepared to dive through. On the upside, at least we’re in it together – although Matt doesn’t know it yet!