I moved to Nashville 3.5 years ago.
And would you believe, no kidding, that this is the SIXTH house I have occupied in this town?
So, mathematically speaking, that’s like moving every 7 months or so. Barf.
[I know your next question and no, I am not in the witness protection program. And even if I was, could I tell you?]
[Do you think they let people in the WPP have blogs? Maybe.]
Here’s what else is super weird about how much I have moved. Prior to going to college, do you know how many houses I lived in? ONE. My parents still live in the house they built the months before I was born.
Since going to college? ELEVEN.
I feel like there should be some good 70s lyric to insert here about me being a nomad, a wanderer, a free-spirited woman without a consistent place to lay her head…. something something flowers in my hair something something flowy skirt.
This new house in Nashville is so darlin’ and great and will be a real joy when it is not full. of. the. cardboard. boxes.
I may be a hippy wanderer, but I gotz lotz of junk.
There are a few different ways to tackle unpacking, and I’ve tried them all.
1. One box a day keeps the stress away … You can just be disciplined and unpack one single box each day. Sure, it’ll take you up to two months to unpack, but you won’t feel exhausted.
2. Today’s the day … Just do it. Every box. Everything in its place. Miserably tiring but effective.
3. I’ll figure that out later … unpack what you can, avoid the things you don’t know what to do with. [This is my preferred method of dealing with emotional pain as well, just FYI.]
4. Boxes are like storage pieces … don’t unpack. Just use the boxes. Not recommended.
5. I’ll buy the pizza … invite your friends over, let them help you unpack, and you feed them as payment.
This time, I’m doing a combo of #3 and #5, with a splash of #4 … just until I get a desk up here from Atlanta.
And being that it has been seven months since I had all my material possessions in one building, I’m excited to announce that I have only lost two things in these 217(ish) days:
- my checkbook
- the knobs that go on top of my four-poster bed
I do not know where they are.
But there are a few boxes left to unpack, so I’m not without hope that they will be found.
As soon as the house is done, I will give you a proper tour. I’ve done it before, for Annie Parsons. And I shall do it again.
. . . . .
What’s your method of unpacking?
And where do you think my checkbook is?