Eight Feet. Eight feet of space. This is the amount of linear feet I have reserved in my moving trailer. I have to fit all of my belongings into this space which is 8 by 8 by 9 feet. That's not a lot, but I'm determined not to exceed it and thus be force to pay an extra hundred or so dollars. I'm Scottish and, with God as my witness, I will fit everything into 8 feet.
Knowing how much space I have has changed how I look at my possessions. Instead of sitting on my wonderfully oversized couches and enjoying them, I am now consistently thinking how I can efficiently pack all of my things. Its like the inside of my brain has turned into one giant game of tetris.
I have several items on the "cut if I don't have room" list. Free toaster oven I pulled out of the trash at Meadowood? Your time is coming near. I already donated my microwave to Berger (and have been happily heating up my lunch daily). Clothing has been hauled to the Salvation Army by the Echo-load. How do I still have so much left??
Since college, I haven't moved more than approximately 100 yards. I literally walked some loads over. Until everything is packed up and on it's way to Denver, I'm pretty sure I will be one big ball of stress. Tell Aunt Trudy to have tequila waiting in South Carolina (our first stop on the road trip) - I'll need it!!
you're obsessed with this 8 feet thing. :)
ReplyDeleteI am. It haunts my dreams. I feel like if I look over my shoulder while walking in a dark alley, 8 feet will hop behind a tree, because its stalking me.
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