Moving isn't fun.
I learned that many cardboard boxes and full back seats ago.
There was the move when my parents got divorced. Then there was another one after that. I moved to and from college four years in a row, then into my own place, and now we're moving again.
Don't get too excited; we're just moving from Jamestown to Falconer, so I'll still be working at The Post-Journal.
We're choosing to move, so I know I shouldn't complain about it. But, I do it anyway.
Obviously, the problem isn't driving boxes from Jamestown to Falconer. It's not far.
It's not the place we're moving into; we like it just fine.
Nor is it the packing, although that's not my favorite task.
My least favorite part about moving is thinking about moving.
We've known for a few weeks that we'd be moving today, so I've had plenty of time to prepare. However, I'm a bit of a procrastinator, when it comes to my personal life at least.
Instead of taking care of the necessary tasks, I've let them loom over my head.
As I'm writing this, our current apartment might as well be surrounded by caution tape. There are boxes everywhere.
Unfortunately, most of them are empty. I've spent a lot of time thinking about packing, but not much time actually doing it.
The move will probably go smoothly today, and I'm sure it would've been much less stressful if I'd packed and made the necessary phone calls ahead of time.
We'll probably feel settled in after a week or two. Then, I'll realize that I haven't done any Christmas shopping or thought about holiday travel and other plans.
One day, maybe I'll learn to cross tasks off my to-do list a little bit ahead of time. Since I haven't yet, I'll spend this morning filling boxes.