Things that go into boxes are not so bad. There is a kind of ordering of all the chaos of one's life that is strangely productive. The bit I hate is when you have packed the hundredth box and you walk into an almost empty room and know there is at least another twenty boxfuls there. Worse still are all the things that don't belong to any box, can't be dumped, sold or given away. You end up grabbing such oddments and throwing them into a pile muttering, where the hell do you go? I am rapidly resembling a headless chicken racing round in circles with only 5 days to get out of this house. If you were me you would not be wasting time writing a blog. On that note I better stop. This moving country thing is certainly up there with the divorce, bereavement and job change in terms of stress! I promise myself not to accumulate so much junk in future. There will be silence from me for a while, for obvious reasons. The silence of despair!
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