moving...

I hate moving.

Seriously, I've done it a lot. My family moved around frequently while I was growing up, and I went to a new school every grade from elementary to high school. I became very accustomed to U-Haul trucks, back aches, and annoying nights of purging.

That's right purging.

Anyone who has ever moved knows what purging is. It's the shedding of useless things you've accumulated in your daily travels. It could be clothes that don't fit you, or that you wouldn't wear anyway. It could be that spare coffee mug someone gave you at the office. It could be things you actually cherished at one point, but now couldn't give a rats ass about. Of course, chances are that if you've "purged", you've emptied a junk drawer and found something trivial that turns out to be something you can't imagine you ever lived without.

Moving does this to you, and it drives you nuts.

It's also back-breaking work. I damn well hate the whole thing and can't wait for it to be over, but then again I'm doing the easy part. My wife, bless her, she does more of the packing anyway. She knows where things go, and why. She stores things in memory banks, and unpacks them where they need to go later. I don't know how she does it, but I thank my lucky stars daily that she doesn't curl up under the covers and whine like a little bitch.

Like I do.