Thirteen Years (a treatise on packratitis)

Thirteen years. That's how long it's been since my last move. I have a storage "bin" in the storage room out in the building hall, filled with boxes and boxes of stuff, some not even unpacked after the last move. I have two big items of furniture that I have to unload before I move into the townhouse (both have takers, but getting them to take the items, ah, that's the challenge!) I have an in-suite storage room crammed full. And the contents of three closets, a free-standing pantry, the kitchen cupboards, the books and knick-knacks on 10 bookcases, all of the stuff in the large cedar chest, and my clothes and other personal possessions. How the hell did I accumulate all this stuff?

Start small......the desk is emptied, whenever Bex gets around to picking it up. I've got the buffet & hutch half (okay, 0ne-third) emptied, planning to finish that today, then Guilly and co. can fetch it. With the spaces presently occupied by those pieces empty, I have somewhere to stack boxes as I fill them. Monday's job? Call the nearby storage outfits and buy some boxes and packing paper. I figure, for all I have including the >3000 books, ten dozen boxes should do.

The sheer magnitude of this task is depressing me. I guess I'll just have to take it in steps, in stages. Break it into more manageable portions, as they say. Thank goodness I'm giving myself the month of March (mostly) to get the painting done in the townhouse and the packing done here, as well as 4 days after moving to clean this apartment so I can recover my measly three hundred buck damage deposit. I will get through this - but at what cost to my sanity?