I don't remember how many times I've moved since I moved out on my own for the first time a bit over 9 years ago. I could count but I'm to tiered to do it right now. I have a love-hate relationship with moving. Mostly it's on the hate-side, but there's also something fresh and new about moving into a new place, like getting a clean slate to start on.
Today I'm leaving my apartment and if everything goes as planned I won't be back until december. My stuff is packed tight in the basement and the apartment looks white and clean - and empty. I still have my furniture, they'll stay up here for the girl who's renting the place while I'm gone, but it still looks extremely empty. I know it's a cliché and I know I say it every time I move, but it just hits me equally hard every single time - how is it possible to have this much stuff!? I feel like I haven't done anything but packed and stuffed and managed an advanced game of Tetris in my tiny basement this last couple of days. I can't possibly need that much stuff. I have these last couple of weeks gotten rid of six or seven grocery bags full of clothes and shoes and I could probably get rid of three or four more. It's shameful is what it is; all that space and all that money wasted on something I maybe used once or twice. And don't even get me started on the books! My books will be my downfall, literally - I'm going to fall down flat on my face when my back gives up after carrying down 200 liters of books. I know it's a strange measurement but I have filled out over three boxes (of 65L each) with books and obviously I haven't weighed everything so that's my measurement and that's my way of saying - a lot!
Now I have one hour to wash the floors, dust the cabinets and carry the last couple of bags down, and then I'll take a loooong shower, slip into a cute dress and enjoy an evening with the best girls in the world. Cheers to a great weekend! ;-)