what is with the insanity that ensues when you are about to move? what is so neccessary about the incessant sifting through loads of crap? what is with the time it takes to look at each piece of paper in a pile of papers to see which of those papers in the pile of papers is worth keeping in a new pile of papers or worth throwing out into a crumpled mess of papers? what is with all the paper? what is with the boxes, and the sharpie markers, and the newspaper, and the tape?
what is with the hoarding of sentimental trinkets? what is with the broken pens and the dried out magic markers and the paperclips and the pennies? what is with the too-far-overdue library books, and the never-wear-again team shirts, and the to-be-regifted stuffs?
what is with the daunting task of moving?
it is making me crazy.
my crazy crazy mind.