Argh! The injustice of it all!!

Jeezo, I suck at packing.

My room has been a mess of half-filled boxes, piles of partially folded clothes, bags of rubbish, labels  of "for charity"; "Edinburgh" and "destined for the skip". At this stage I feel like slapping the "destined for the skip" label on everything and moving with just a suitcase of clothes and a few of my favourite books. Unfortunately, I'm a nester. I nest. The place I live in has to feel like a home. Hence the massive frames, pictures on the walls, the modest but good collection of books on the shelves, the cushions, quilts, linens, candles, mirrors, clocks, etc, etc. Not to mention all the bloody art supplies I'm hauling around wherever I go. The canvases, the frames not yet filled with artwork but that I couldn't possibly  give up because it would feel like a betrayal or submission that I'll never achieve my dream of being an artist.

I cannot comprehend how I managed to amass such a staggering amount of crap. There is definitely some hoarder blood in me. I say that not with pride but with defeat. I earn peanuts!! Where did I find the money to pay for all of this?!

And so, I sit amidst piles, towers and walls of my own possessions. Now they feel like my enemies. An army standing to attention in the form of a maze. Trying to confuse me. What is most important? What do I take with me? What will I need? What can I afford to leave behind? But what if I need that? You never know. Edinburgh is full of possibilities after all. Surely I should be prepared for any eventuality? Especially considering I'm broke and can't possibly buy anything new once I'm there. Which at this stage, I'm sorry to say, includes food.

I can hardly find the will to shift another box, to locate the tape that will seal away my things. My memories (both miserable and happy alike) of my time in Blairgowrie. Will I ever return for these boxes? I can barely afford the moving van the first time around, will I manage to scrape together enough for a second journey at a later stage? Who knows?
All I know is that I'm sleeping on the cold, hard floor in a cold, dingy flat that will never be my home. No matter how many pictures I put on the walls. No matter how many cushions I place strategically to make a hard place soft and a cold place warm.

I had better get back to it. Before despair takes over.

So I will put on happy music, and a pretend smile that no one is around to suspect may be false, and I will carry on. As I have always done and always will do. I will just carry on, because there is nothing else I can do. It's all anyone can ever do.