One down, four to go ...

Day one is over.

We survived.

The packers are really nice, very easy to work with. Last time, I asked them please, couldn't they delay the kitchen a bit? And they told me, in no uncertain terms, No. Then, after carefully packing the kitchen, the proceeded to the basement, where they treated everything as if it were mere garbage, tossing it recklessly into boxes.

We were not very happy. This time, I thought, those packers will follow MY rules. They will do it MY way.

They are - and I have not even had to get snippy with them. They offered to wait on the kitchen and the girls' bedrooms, starting with the seldom-used dining room and living room. They have been just as nice and flexible as can be. And funny - joking with the girls, the dog, with me. If not for their penchant for bad 80s music on the radio, we could even be friends. (It is totally cracking me up to hear the packer who looks as if he should be a football player singing along to Duran Duran, Thompson Twins or Huey Lewis and the News. And what 80s station is so desperate for music that they play Major Tom not once, but twice in one day?)

It has made me a little less stressed. A little.

It's amazing how little there is to do when the house is torn apart. I am surrounded by boxes and cartons, piled as high as my head. Which naturally begs the question: Just what is all this shit? And why do we need it?

A fair question. I can account for exactly three boxes with just two letters: LPs. And why we still have them, storing them and carting them from place to place, is anyone's guess. But I'm sure we will continue to store them. And their friend the turntable. AS for the rest of it - your guess is as good as mine.

Yawn. I am exhausted. I was up late finishing laundry and up early today. So I should go start the dishwasher, fold the remaining clothes, and go to bed. That way I can wake up and count another day off the list - one day closer to moving on.