I mean, everyone hates packing, right? Right. And we all aspire to pack neat and tidy and organized, and we pat ourselves on the back (which aches a little, because there's really no ergonomic way to carry a 2x5' box full of clothing with a fragile lid and wheels on the bottom) as we get clear, rugged totes to store our things in so we can find all the things when we arrive at our destination. But, inevitably, we reach the point that a reflex deep in our psyche kicks on, and we start tossing and cramming and folding and slamming all items into all spaces (this, my friends, is the definition of entropy). No longer is organization possible; neolithic processes apply. Item in hand? Cram it into the first space you see. This could mean a headband slid into a box of mason jars, or a vacuum cleaner propped askew in a trash can, or a toilet paper roll squashed under a picture frame. Anything goes.
Back to Jess being the terriblest packer...
I spent the past month packing my apartment. No, really. Every evening after work, I diligently stashed things away in organized little totes. I separated the currently-needs from the need-when-company-comes and furniture, and my parents graciously came and stole away an entire van and trailer load three weeks ago. That means there wasn't much left to pack, right?
Jess is the worstest packer.
I spent a beautiful, wonderful, heart-filling weekend in the Pacific Northwest. When I'd booked the tickets, I had no clue I'd be moving that weekend. But have no fear! Jessica had informed her new job that she'd need to take a day to pack and move. Because, she thought, if one is diligent in progressive packing, who needs more than a day?
Jess is the atrociousest packer.
I landed in Milwaukee before midnight, so was home to my apartment by 1:00 am. I'd estimated that packing and cleaning would take about 4 hours, but didn't completely trust my estimate (my first promising sign of sane logic), so had decided to get a headstart on packing before going to bed.
1:00 am.
2:00 am.
3:00 am.
4:00 am.
5:00 am.
6:00 am.
I rolled out my camping mat and a sleeping bag at 6:45 am for a morning nap, then dragged myself out at 8:30 am to continue the packing grind. By this point, I was beginning to suspect my items were growing in size and quantity, and if I slumbered any longer, the room would be overtaken by the Things.
9:00 am.
10:00 am.
11:00 am.
12:00 pm. My original departure deadline. Nowhere close.
1:00 pm.
2:00 pm. Lunch time. Both because my stomach rumbled and because I was becoming quite angry.
3:00 pm. My "hard" departure deadline. At this point, spirits took a sharp downward turn.
4:00 pm.
5:00 pm.
6:00 pm. Neighbors of historic note stop by to inquire how the packing is going (with comment regarding Jess' missed departure times), and wax eloquent about which highway is best to take to Marshfield. Jess is frustrated enough by now she actually interrupts these instructions (which she usually patiently tolerates) and exasperatedly states that she just wants to get on the road.
6:15 pm. Neighbors come over again and grab the broom and wrangle dust bunnies. THE nicest thing neighbors have e'er done for Jessica.
7:00 pm. 16 hours of packing later, headed west with rooftop kayak/bike/skis, a 5x8' trailer, and half the normal gas mileage.
After telling my Marshfield host that I'd be in town at 3:00 pm and texting her later times as the day wore on, I finally arrived at 9:55 pm, exhausted and realizing that fewer than 10 hours remained between me and first impressions at a new job.
Starting off on the right foot aren't we, Marshfield?
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