I’m packing everything I own. I thought that for someone who reads a lot, I don’t own many books. Turns out I was wrong; I’ve just filled twelve boxes with books. This doesn’t bode well for the stuff I do think I have a lot of.

Packing is hard work, physically and emotionally, but it doesn’t fit the exclusive and extremely narrow definition that my mind has for “real work”. Packing was about to join housework and self-care on the list of things that I expect to happen without using up any actual time, but I spotted impossible expectations at it again. Just in the nick of time.

The solution? Dancing breaks. I plan to make the most of these last weeks of living alone, performing my solo expressionist dance creations for two unimpressed (if not disturbed) cats, and the occasional driver stuck in traffic on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway who glances up at my windows as I go twirling by.

5 Responses to “packing”

  1. Liza Says:

    Having just packed and unpacked my (quite small, but book-filled) office this summer, I am all too aware of how deceptive packing is — both in terms of how long it takes and in terms of the number of boxes one needs. My thoughts are with you, especially during the dancing breaks!

  2. Barb Says:

    Please don’t stop dancing just because you’ll not be living alone! Remember Sark?

  3. eliza Says:

    how fantastic!! Maybe your cats will join in? (sounds like a children’s book, doesn’t it?)

  4. jude Says:

    packing and dancing … and snacking go well together.

  5. boodely » Blog Archive » phyllis & margaret Says:

    […] started packing, which always takes me down memory […]

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