Drowning in stress and boxes

The big moving van comes tomorrow early in the morning. But today, I'm wading through a sea of boxes. No doubt I will be up late, making sure I've included all the things we need for the SF apartment. My stomach is always a little unsettled when packing...they're not butterflies for sure, more like acid slowly eating away at my linings. I always feel like I'm forgetting something. Despite my lists, which I check thrice, I'm not confident in my packing. Much like when I pack for vacations, I always overpack. So, where I thought I would only have five boxes from the kitchen, it has turned out to be almost ten. Let's face it, I'm simply a bad packer and an over-packer to boot.

I wish there was some sort of mandatory packing class offered back in high school--something like "Advanced Packing Skills for Future Cross-Country Moves 101." Maybe then packing would be more like a joyous skip through a field of daffodils, tulips, and wild flowers with the sun shining and soft breeze blowing through my hair. Instead, I'm trudging through deep mucky mud in the middle of a starless and moonless night. Up ahead, a patch of quicksand that I must dodge.

I am drowning in stress and boxes. Boxes and stress. And I'm not a strong swimmer by any means. I would surely be that one individual who is swept out to sea by that freak wave.

All I need to do is just get through today (and tonight). Armed with a 3" tape gun and Sharpie, I'm pulling on my waist-high fishing waders and clipping on my hat flashlight. I'm going to get through the mud and darkness, working and packing towards my beacon of light--the big moving van. In the early morning when it pulls up curbside, it will be my angel, complete with halo and heavenly harp music. Because when the moving van flies  drives away, there will be no more packing to be done (at least until the big and final move).