One Box at a Time


That’s what I came home to on Monday. After spending seven hours in general orientation for my new job, I joined B at home to begin the task of unpacking.

Everything was in chaos. For the second move in a row, we couldn’t find the screws for the couch – seriously, how hard is it to put them on the frame somewhere – so we had that in pieces all over the living room. Once we did find them and get the couch together, flipping it upright revealed a mold spotted seat. Luckily it was nothing a little oxi-clean couldn’t fix. But, between that and three trips to Best Buy to finally get the right cable for the new computer, I was pretty worn out.


My first day was awesome. Having our stuff finally delivered after 107 days without it, was also awesome. I just wish the two days didn’t have to coincide. I’m somewhat amused by it all happening at once.

I spent weeks wishing for anything to do. I spent the last couple of months crying regularly because of boredom and frustration and the general malaise of depression that hung over me. And now it’s all happening at the same time.

I’m learning to get up with an alarm again. I’m learning to spend my whole day out on the go. I’m learning a whole new job. That by itself would be a lot of transition for one week. I haven’t had to get up with an alarm on a regular basis in over eighteen months.

Add in the evening unpacking, and it’s a lot like getting thrown in the deep end and told not to drown as a pedagogical method for learning to swim. It will work, I will get through, it just might not be pretty.

Really, what it means, is cutting myself some slack. It means not feeling bad about picking up dinner from a restaurant. It means not beating myself up for skipping the gym. It means being kinder to myself.

And that’s really the hard part. I want to do it all. At once. But I have to know that trying to do so is a guaranteed way for me to come apart at the seams.

I can only unpack one box at a time. And that’s how I’m living life right now.


About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to One Box at a Time

  1. Army Amy says:

    Sounds like y’all are hitting the ground running in terms of unpacking. It is a long slow process and super unfun that it happened to coincide with your return to work, but it will eventually all get done. Deep breaths!

  2. evalonne says:

    Little boxes on the hillside,
    Little boxes made of ticky tacky,
    Little boxes on the hillside,
    Little boxes all the same.
    There’s a green one and a pink one
    And a blue one and a yellow one,
    And they’re all made out of ticky tacky
    And they all look just the same.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s