On Friday night, when I had visitors, somebody asked if I’d just moved into my flat. Today is the fourth-month anniversary of moving into the flat, so I was super cross that we still had a living room half full of cardboard boxes. So before I went to work this morning, I dragged and swore and dragged some more, moving all the boxes out of the living room. And dumping them into the dining area, so although the front room was now clear, I had rendered the dining table unusable.
Well, it was a start.
Tonight after work, I began to go through the boxes and see what I could throw away (at least one box’s worth of junk) and what was going to be worth holding onto, or selling. I found a warm sweatshirt that will be invaluable on the long flight to Canada (my wife has absconded with my other sweater), some books, and more random crap (almost literally – we have a Sesame Street themed potty for our children that they’ve never used, because they prefer Paw Patrol and adult-sized toilets).
Then I tried to make space in the bomb shelter for a box of old clothes that we should give to charity at some point. That meant trying to get the front wheel off my bike to make space, but since the guy at the bike shop reamed out the head of the bolt three years ago (I don’t know why) it’s impossible to get the front wheel off – hence another project this week, when I need to get the bike down to the shop and have him remove the bolt (somehow) so I can get the wheel off, then take the bike home at Christmas and get it out of the way. Reaching this conclusion took looks of swearing and sweating, and so when I talked to my wife I was in a state of high dudgeon. I went out afterwards, sweated some more, did some pull-ups, dumped some rubbish, and then came home to sulk.
Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is Tuesday, to be exact. Friday is a day off, and before that I have lots of excitement and rushing around. Let’s hope I also get rid of a few more boxes…