Well, I survived. Not just the surgery, but the packing, the move, the deliveries, the overly unhelpful customer service people, a Braves game, a trip to Fado, and even a venture into the “might-as-well-be-in-Tennessee” city of Dacula, GA. Yes, though I have been wearing the same Google sweatshirt, flip flops and jeans for the past three days and haven’t the slightest idea where the dress I’m wearing for the wedding this weekend in New Orleans is, it’s official. I’m the owner of a new home, a new puppy that loves her backyard, a fabulous new loveseat/overstuffed chair combo, three fireplaces, and a kitchen that even I don’t understand how I lucked out enough to get.
And yet (don’t you love that I’m always finding a caveat?) I keep attempting to make progress, to unpack another box or put together another lamp or side table and yet it seems like the ratio of unpacked vs. packed is still skewed in the ‘How can one person own this much stuff‘ side. Every time I unpack a box of, say, formal dresses (one of two, and yes, I know how pathetic that is), there exists three more plastic crates of books! Of photo albums! Of dishes! And pots and pans and lamps and socks and – who knew – an entire box of pashminas. I live in Georgia and have a WHOLE. BOX. OF. SCARF-ESQUE-THINGS. No need to chastise, I’m embarrassed enough myself.
Still, I had fabulous helpers this weekend, and even though “complete and total disarray” is too kind of a phrase for the actuality that is my disaster-scene-living room, I had friends stop by, some even unexpectedly (my favorite thing ever!!) and I had wine to offer them – from a wine fridge, no less. I had my crafty gal-pal wield a drill like nobody’s business, my savvy decorator/builder guy friend offer suggestions for my decor, and enjoyed the pleasure of the company of a delightful young lad not only at the Braves game, but also at our friends’ Seder last evening. All in all, despite the treadmill of boxes, the overwhelming feeling that I’ll never get to the bottom of the unpacking, I secretly feel that for the first time in a while, perhaps I’m not just running to stand still – perhaps I’m going somewhere.