All of us have moved at least once in our lives. Unless you were born and raised in a house then continued to live there with your parents until it became your own home in which case good on ya. I mean bless their souls and mine as well, but the main reason my parents and I had a good relationship is because I moved out. I suppose you might call me a spirited youth. With strong opinions. And a stubborn streak.
But I digress.
Even if you’re one of those folks who was born and raised (those of you in the south know what I’m talking about) you probably still have a move or three under your belt – going to college or moving out when you get your first job, getting an apartment with some buddies, finding your first solo apartment, moving in with your luvie. Did you pack up your stuff and move it from point A to point B? Then you’ll get what I’m saying.
I’ve hit the stall.
Every move I’ve ever logged follows an unpacking pattern. There’s a pause after all the boxes are loaded in – it can last anywhere from five to thirty minutes, depending on the job looming – when I look around and think holy hell, how am I EVER gonna get these unpacked? I find it slightly disorienting since I already feel like I made it to the other side. I’m sitting in my new place. My stuff has all (presumably) been delivered. I’m home free. Except for the fact I refuse to live out of boxes.
Then there’s the whoosh when I’ll get somewhere between 48 and 60 hours of hardcore, visibly impressive progress. Boxes get unpacked, broken down, and hauled out of the house. Items find their home and settle into their drawers or cabinets. I can see the cardboard mountain diminishing and my heart lightens just a tiny bit, alive with the promise of days when I won’t wake up deciding which room to work on. The whoosh is like the giddy high of driving a sports car – just get out of my way, nothing can stop me now. Until the stall.
For me the stall doesn’t even have the benefit of rest. It’s not like my sports car broke down and I’m waiting on the tow truck. The stall is reaching the end of the day after eight hours of unpacking boxes, looking around, and realizing not a damn thing looks different. The stall is a tough place to be. Wine helps. So does stopping work by 8:30pm.
There’s always tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that…
Riddle from the Middle 
I’ve not had a stall, BUT every move has taken me a bit longer. Last time, it was five days before I had it all placed. So if I had to do it again, I’d probably be committing to a week of crazed chaos, as I am NOT getting younger and faster, and that’s why I hope to live here forever. You have my sympathies, but you know it’s all gonna get done, no need to bother yourself over it — unless you also have my OCD, in which case, you have twice my sympathies.
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Had to drop by the office to get the carpet cleaner we’d stashed there & my heart stopped. There’s a whole other room OF STUFF to sort through then move. Or donate. I suspect much will land in the latter category. 😆
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Oh, that dang stall!!! Definitely wine. Every time we’ve moved, we’ve inevitably had at least two boxes that just stay in a room or closet somewhere, waiting years to get unpacked, or chucked once we realize if we haven’t opened that box in that long, there probably isn’t anything in there we really need. Sigh…..
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*All* of this right here. We cleared out the house right after Christmas so we could show it. Stored the stuff at my husband’s office. Now I’m thinking HARD about what’s there because if we’ve lived without it for two months… 🙂
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Oh I know all about the stall. Many, many times over. I think rest and denial are the best ways to deal with. Wine helps, too. But you know that already. Good luck… and don’t let the boxes get you down.
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Occasionally it does the heart good to holler I WILL NOT BE DONE IN BY THE BOXES. **I WILL NOT!** Then start again. 🙂
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The Stall is when my wails of “I’m never ever moving again”, which have been happening regularly since the packing started, grow more plaintive and louder and frequent. Eventually all boxes are emptied or shoved somewhere they cannot be seen and after a year the items contained therein can now be gotten rid of. Sometimes I think it would be easier to have some people with a big truck come in, load everything up and haul it to the dump, then start over. But that raises the question – which is less stressful – unpacking or shopping? It’s kind of a lose-lose isn’t it?
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Oh my, that is DEFINITELY a lose-lose. Shopping stresses me way out unless the stars are aligned and unicorns prance through the store bearing baskets of chocolate so…yeah.
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I actually have a friend who has never moved. He commuted to a local college, and inherited the house from his parents. He’s never packed other than a suitcase.
I’ve forgotten how many times I’ve moved, but all but one of them were prior to this marriage (35 years). I remember the stall, and I am reasonably sure that some boxes were moved from place to place without having been emptied.
As long as you unpacked: pillows, wine glasses, dog food, and the things we don’t mention, you’re good.
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Check, check, check, and check! 😉
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I have a feeling men take a more leisurely view on unpacking especially if the pub is open, after all moving in is stressful enough, there’s always tomorrow.
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This has always been my perspective on it. Ironically, I married a man who won’t feel settled until the last box is gone so…it’s been interesting.
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If not the pub, then at least a cup of tea before you finish!
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This will be our mantra tomorrow. There shall be tea!
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That is the most tricky part. Stop the work, unwind and forget about it till the next day.
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I agree — knowing when to take a break so I don’t lose it is key. 😉
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Absolutely. I have done a lot of moves and often got ahead of myself, just to regret later.
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I find a spare bedroom helps with the stall. After my enthusiasm is spent the unopened boxes are crammed into the spare room. The door is closed. Suddenly I have completed the move, just ignore the the fact that some of the walls are bending due to the pressure of boxes desperately trying to explode.
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The visual of bending walls is exactly what I needed right now. For some reason I decided to Kondo my clothes before putting them away so there’s a gigantic pile of fabric blocking access to my bed. I figured it was the best way to guarantee I’d follow through…no spare room, but the couch is pretty comfy! 😆
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Have you got any space under the couch. You could put the unpacked stuff under it then get comfy on top of them and rest assured that you are on top of it….
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Yes! Now that sounds like a creative solution to me…
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I hear you, sisiter! I was born and raised in the south, so I got that part, and in the 13 years I’ve lived in Indiana I have moved eight times… Cray cray… Good luck! Wine is our friend!
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Eight times makes you a bona fide expert in the move. Wine is most certainly my friend. I’m trying not to bring Ben & Jerry’s into the fold, too. 😆
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Hahahahaha… My wife says “no kidding!” Ha
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