I hate moving. Of all the change that just occurred, the actual move to Toronto was not something I was dreading terribly. In fact, I was excited to reorganize and purge all my junk I accumulated at my old place. I'd like to think I'm not a pack-rat but last week's move certainly proved otherwise. "How many mugs does one girl need?!" my new roommate asked as she unpacked strange mug #27 from the tenth box marked "Kitchen Stuff." I bombarded her home and filled it with my stuff and even breaking several things en route didn't seem to help control the clutter. 15 hours and many strained muscles later, it's become crystal clear to me: I have way too much stuff.
The move was long, arduous and much more exhausting than I ever anticipated. It was one of those days where everything takes 7 times longer than you anticipate. Everytime I looked at the moving truck, the boxes seemed endless and the more we brought into the apartment, the less convinced I was that I was ever going to fit it all in here. But somehow, everything found it's place... just don't look under my bed...or in the closet.
I have to give a huge shout-out to my moving team: my parents, Lindsay, Graham and especially Tina and Alicia. These girls gave up their entire day, strained their muscles, entertained my mom and basically kept me sane when my patience was wearing very thin. We learned that Tina basically has superhuman strength and can lift pretty much anything. We also learned that tropical fish can survive in a bucket for over 6 hours in the winter and I think Alicia and my mom are now BFF's (haha). I appreciate your help more than you know!
PS - I'm moving again May 1. ;)