A friend asked me the other day if I was settled into my new house - she said, "are you all organized yet?"
I laughed and said, "I wasn't organized before the move, why should I be now?"
A few days after that someone else said in surprise, "Aren't you unpacked yet?"
I moved into the house on May 20. You'd think I'd have everything done. But I don't.
Boxes are piled up in corners, in the middle of some floors, in closets and the stairwell and the garage. Every once in a while I'll make a half-hearted attempt at unpacking. I'll pull out a box and open it up, look at the contents, sigh, close it back up and shove it back into its place. Sometimes I actually manage to unpack a box. I put the contents on counters and in drawers, because I don't know what else to do with them. I'm not putting them away - I'm just storing them someplace different than a box.
Every once in awhile I drive over to the old house and walk through the dark, ashy, smoky rooms and pick something up and put it down, open a closet door and shut it, bring an empty box upstairs in order to fill it, then leave it empty on the floor. Dirty pieces of furniture are shoved haphazardly in rooms. Clothing, bedding, trash, papers and toys are scattered here and there. Books sit patiently in stacks near the door. I walk into the kitchen which my husband has gutted.
I look out the windows to the lush, overgrown back yard. Then I walk back through the house and shut the door behind me, get in my car and go home.
