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November 15, 2011


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Tell me about it, just moved house. A week of packing hell, a painful back injury, 36 hours of frenetic activity, and now multiple go-rounds of dependency hell (We need to get the bookcases up to get the boxes of books open! But we can't open the flatpacks of bookcases until we get rid of the boxes of books!)


Packing is my bliss, and it always catches me by surprise that my husband doesn't enjoy it. Just as you described, he spends the time either standing about uncertain of what to do, or attempting to move forward in a way that runs counter to my larger scheme. He really just wants it over with, which might be why he finds no joy in the process itself. There is a goal to packing, but there is also a process to packing. The process has to come first, or the goal is lost. It takes a special sort of zen to fit two cubic yards of stuff into one cubic yard of space.

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