The last couple of weeks have been hectic. I'm in the process of moving, and I've been in my current home for nine years. It blows my mind how much random stuff I've accumulated! Yesterday, I found a stuffed animal I won at a fair so long ago I can't even remember when it was. I think I'd intended to give it to a niece or a nephew, but that obviously never happened. So I threw it into what I've affectionately dubbed "The Goodwill Corner" of my dining room. It's a towering pile that will likely take multiple trips.
As much as I hate packing, I do love the end result. Only having things that are meaningful, and intentional. Things that have a place, and that make me happy. Things that I use and appreciate. And the unpacking! The unpacking puts me into complete euphoria! It's the only time my entire house will be cleaned, and organized exactly the way I want. Sometimes I imagine I'm just a little bit OCD. Not in a Lena Dunham in Girls OCD, but like a Monica from Friends OCD. My house is always spotless and passes the white glove test, my laundry is always clean and folded, my floors are always shining. That'll no doubt only last for a few weeks, and then life will kick in, and I'll have my sweaty sports bra draped over the ironing board, and my pajamas laying over the edge of the bathtub, and a couple of dishes in the sink. That's more where I land. But who knows, maybe new beginnings will bring out my inner Monica after all. I guess we'll just have to see what happens.
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