Although not really a pic of my place, add a few more boxes and a pink wall, it could be. My Labor Day goal was to find the end of the boxes. Turns out, there is no end to the boxes. They are magical boxes that multiply whenever my back is turned.
For a time yesterday, I became convinced that I was on Candid Camera (oops - telling my age there - I mean being Punk'd). I would finish unpacking what I was sure was the last box only to turn around and see five more where earlier none had stood.
The saddest part of all - it is really all my stuff. I was hoping when I saw the huge number of boxes delivered to my small condo that a mix up had occurred. Some poor family of six was missing half their stuff because it has been erroneously brought to my place. I was confident that halfway through my move I would find boxes of men's shirts and children's toys that I could then return to their rightful owner. Alas, this has not happened. Box after box after box contains the familiar.
Not only are these magical boxes, they are cruel magical boxes. They have begun to taunt me and say cruel things. I hear them whisper late into the night about American consumerism and gross consumption. They laugh at my attempts to organize so much stuff into such a small space. They call me an Ugly American. They are really quite mean boxes.
If I can ever rid myself of my current infestation, I promise to post pictures of the new place. It really is fantastic when it is not covered in evil boxes. Still haven't actually made it to the beach yet, but hoping for a trek there soon. At least it would be free of boxes - I hope?
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