In this title there is only one word which is true and that is packing...I don't know if it is possible to use joy and packing in the same sentence...I can tell you for sure - not for me...Always the same routine. No matter how much I am trying to procrastinate unavoidable, there is always a moment when you just have to start folding and wrapping and ordering and measuring and stocking and more folding and piling and more ordering...I am not trying to sound negative, not at all. I am just stating a fact here:).
Well, that said, the expectation of a new adventure always serves as a remedy for the painful process of relocation. So far I did it about 5 times. I am talking about major move here. The first time I was going to the U.S. to study at the University of Wisconsin. I was about 19 years old back then...Most of my suitcases were not even done by me so, I guess, that first time does not really count. Other times were when I moved to Washington and back to Donetsk and, finally, when I moved to Kyiv almost six years ago.
One thing I have learned from all this process is that the older you become the more boxes you need to move. You just somehow absolutely cannot imagine your life in a new place without that special frying pan, that one and only sweater, so precious to you regardless of the fact that you did not wear it for about... well... 3 years...And let me tell you, all those things add up...
So in order to save some of my "or so fragile neurons'' I decided to go with professional movers. I thought all I needed to do was to go on my facebook while all those professionals loaded my belongings on one of those magic trucks or whatever they used to transport your things across the borders...Ha...I should have known better...
The movers arrived to estimate the quantity of things to be shipped. I left it up to them to go around my apartment and do whatever they needed to do. I was just about to indulge myself in life feed updates of the world wide addiction - THE one and only facebook, when I was totally thrown of the track by a question posed by one of the movers: "How many cubic meters of T-shirts do you have?"Ha? Here came my tranquility. I thought she was joking...I asked what she meant by cubic meters and she went into a long explanation: "well imagine one meter in height, one meter in length and one meter in width''...For one moment I thought poor lady needed a professional help herself... Honestly I was so startled that I did not know what to respond. I was just staring at her and evaluating in my mind whether she had any heavy or sharp objects in her hands and whether i could make it to the door...I guess my facial expression was somewhat alarming because she looked like she started to evaluate whether I had any sharp objects in my own hands and whether she should run for the exit herself...
Then it occurred to me that this poor girl was probably joking and I simply lost my sense of humour...Shame on me! So in order to reinstate that I was still capable of joking myself, I stated that I measured my T-shirts in square miles only... Oh boy... that did not help... I think it could have been the end of my contract with the movers... That was when my friend came to my rescue and calmly asked why they measured everything in cubic meters. Guess what the answer was? Because everything is transported in boxes and shipment is calculated depending on the size of the box (i.e. depending on your cubic meters)...Now I know how many cubic meters of T-shirts I have:).
I feel better because I've learned something new today:).
*photo twomenboxes.com
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