Packing is like a Circle of Hell, But It’s Air Conditioned

WTF IS A MOVING KIT AND HOW DO I ACQUIRE ONE

I am in the process of packing up my entire apartment and goddamn, it is terrible. I’m predestined to be horrible at packing because I’m naturally horrible at organization. You might think that’s a personal choice of mine, but oh no, sir, you’d be wrong there: I am the girl who can’t find anything after she cleans and I definitely can’t be held accountable for complex tasks like putting shit that corresponds with other shit in the right box. Jesus.

But I can try. So can you! I’ve learned a few rules.

Yes, it really will take that long.
Packing is the worst because there’s really no way to cut down on labor or hurry it along. You have so many things in your home and short of hiring someone to do it for you, you’ve gotta make it all go somewhere '“ even if you end up throwing it all away. Curb alert! But seriously, don’t even for a minute that packing will not take up a sickening chunk of your time. In fact, take the amount of time you think it will take and multiply it by three. And then factor in some breaks for naps on top of your heap of shit and time spent googling 'œPACKING STRATEGIES.'

You need boxes. So many boxes!
The thing about trying to skimp on boxes is that, even if you save some strain by lessening your trips up and down the stairs, the boxes you do end up packing will be really fucking heavy. So heavy, in fact, that you will probably either give up or throw out your back or in a more likely scenario, both. Get more boxes than you need, and don’t overfill them. They’re not hard to get '“ go to the liquor store. Do not buy any liquor. Getting bombed on schnapps and going out on your fire escape to liberate all of your belongings will not equate to getting packed faster. You are dooming yourself to picking bras up off the sidewalk in your bathrobe later. Trust me on this.

Group
This is the one I have trouble with. When faced with a half-empty box at my feet, my brain goes into caveman mode and shrieks of 'œFILL! FILL!' overpower any rationality. I reach for whatever’s handy to shove in there. The result is opening a box to find a stash of running socks and condoms alongside peach preserves and thank you cards. This non-strategy makes unpacking as pleasant as peeling your own skin off. You might want to make a list or something.

Well folks. That’s all I’ve got for you. If all else fails, cry. Your friends will come over to console you and then you can trick them into helping with beer. Or you could share those schnapps you only half-finished, but then you’ll need an extra bathrobe.