I’m not the most organized person in the world. I’m probably not in the top third.
But I have my own organization that makes sense to me.
Packing for a move violates almost every sense of order that I have. Due to space availability in boxes, things get grouped together that I would never otherwise put together. Especially kitchen stuff, where I find myself with just enough space to put one drinking glass in a box full of dishes used for baking.
I’ve been packing up a storm tonight, and I’m now at the point where I can no longer figure out how to get the rest of the stuff I have yet to pack put into the remaining packing containers without completely feeling confused by what I’m doing. I don’t know how to explain this point of psychiatric desperation to those who don’t have it.
It would be like making a big sub sandwich, and after you’ve got the turkey and roast beef and ham and bologna and lettuce and tomato and onions and all that good stuff, discovering that you also have to add peanut butter, peppermint candies, WD40, and a Latvian. That’s how my brain sees this remainder.
Plus I’m afraid of making noise and waking Sage.
So now, I’m either going to start throwing stuff together in something somewhere… or I’m going to wait until morning until we can get all the packed stuff out of the house and then see what all is left, and hope that someone else here can just put the stuff into something and absolve me of the responsibility that is trying to scrape its way out of my brain.