Wow, this is intimidating

So.  I guess what's new with me is I'm moving.  I'm sitting in my dining room, or what's left of it, staring at the flour that I spilled all over the floor while attempting to dump it from the paper packaging into the supposed "air tight" canister I bought at TJ Max.  These canisters are supposed to help me be neat and damn it, here I am ruining it by underestimating the capacity of the flour package.  Glancing around the room, I can take note of several things that are currently driving me crazy.  From the computer I can see the kitchen sink:  full of dirty dishes.  All of my framed art work has been taken off the walls, leaving the bare, bony nail as a reminder that life once existed there, all my cupboard food is packed into my "green" grocery bags on my usually clean dining room table.  Three baskets of laundry wait for me to get the motivation to search for quarters.  Clothing that didn't make the cut of "laundry day" (usually if it doesn't stink or requires dry cleaning) is draped over my dining room chairs.  A crinkled bag of chips is next to the computer--that's dinner--right along side my can of (yuck I hate saying this) Miller Lite.  Oh yes, people, this is the life I am currently leading. 

God, this place looks like a war zone.  A flour sprinkled war zone.  Okay so perhaps not a "war zone" but I think I'm allowed some drama from time to time.  Call it the middle child syndrome.  

Really the worst part of the whole thing is that I only have about five boxes that I pulled from the basement to pack all my shit in.  Cobwebby basement boxes that are slightly damp, not at all reinforced, and ripped in the corners.  Gross.

Today I tried to make moving easier by giving a bunch of stuff away.  Which is always hard because like millions of people across America, I am a die hard pack rat.  It's not even like I save useful things.  Today I decided to keep six spiral ring notebooks from college that were completely filled up with notes.   Believe me, I'm not going back to read them later--I'm just keeping them because I can.  And greeting cards!  Ah, that Catholic guilt doesn't afford me the insensitive nature required to throw out all the birthday and Christmas cards I have received in the past.  Every time I move I try to throw those fuckers out.  And then I start opening them.  Even though my mother pens the same thing every time ("Love you, tootsie pie! XO XO") I just can't do it. 

I tried to give Goodwill a Styrofoam cooler.  It was a no go.  The guy looked at me like I was trying to pass nuclear sewage off as nourishing soup for orphans in Ghana.  Sorry, dude, I just thought someone might use it for....fishing?  Tail gating? A severed head?

Looking around the room again I realize that I have a ton of shit to do.  And this is the day I decided to start a blog.  Clearly something is wrong with me.