Moving out is GREAT...
...if by "great" you mean "really really terrible", then yes.
Now before people yell at me for being both pessimistic and ungrateful for the opportunity I have to travel, let me explain myself...
- I hate having to get on my knees and beg rude supermarket staff for leftover boxes so that I can pack all my stuff up.
- I like going through a whole heap of things that I haven't looked at for ages. It's nostalgic, but in a good way.
- I hate having to organise and throw out the 70 000 kg of junk that I have accumulated. Especially when it's old papers and documents, because it goes against my principles. (At least I can put it in the recycle bin.)
- I like going to Ikea to buy cool storage boxes, because Ikea is just a likeable sort of place. Really, they have funktastic stuff.
- I hate being told which way to walk through Ikea by security guards and yellow arrows on the floor. If I WANT to walk in the opposite direction to everyone else, then I WILL. What difference can it possibly make?
- I like putting together the boxes and writing my name on them and indicating what's inside. It's a satisfying experience.
- I hate spending 20 minutes in a queue on the phone to the electricity company, listening to terrible musak, and then actually speaking to a human being for the sum total of 20 seconds whilst they tell me I have to call them back on Thursday and go through the whole process again. I really do hate that.
- I like the idea of being on a plane to Singapore on Monday night. Strike that... I LOVE that idea.
- I hate the thought of having to clean the windows in my apartment. Windex makes me giddy, and since I live on the second floor of my building, I have to make sure I don't fall out. It's a fairly complicated exercise.
So, all things considered, the process of moving out sucks: 5 "hates" versus 4 "likes".
The first person who says that it's unladylike to whinge and complain will find themselves with a pencil jabbed in their kneecap, and lemon juice squeezed in their eyes.
"A bit of the old One-Two, One-Two, lemon in the eye".
And then we'll see who's ladylike, damnit.
KATE!
Now before people yell at me for being both pessimistic and ungrateful for the opportunity I have to travel, let me explain myself...
- I hate having to get on my knees and beg rude supermarket staff for leftover boxes so that I can pack all my stuff up.
- I like going through a whole heap of things that I haven't looked at for ages. It's nostalgic, but in a good way.
- I hate having to organise and throw out the 70 000 kg of junk that I have accumulated. Especially when it's old papers and documents, because it goes against my principles. (At least I can put it in the recycle bin.)
- I like going to Ikea to buy cool storage boxes, because Ikea is just a likeable sort of place. Really, they have funktastic stuff.
- I hate being told which way to walk through Ikea by security guards and yellow arrows on the floor. If I WANT to walk in the opposite direction to everyone else, then I WILL. What difference can it possibly make?
- I like putting together the boxes and writing my name on them and indicating what's inside. It's a satisfying experience.
- I hate spending 20 minutes in a queue on the phone to the electricity company, listening to terrible musak, and then actually speaking to a human being for the sum total of 20 seconds whilst they tell me I have to call them back on Thursday and go through the whole process again. I really do hate that.
- I like the idea of being on a plane to Singapore on Monday night. Strike that... I LOVE that idea.
- I hate the thought of having to clean the windows in my apartment. Windex makes me giddy, and since I live on the second floor of my building, I have to make sure I don't fall out. It's a fairly complicated exercise.
So, all things considered, the process of moving out sucks: 5 "hates" versus 4 "likes".
The first person who says that it's unladylike to whinge and complain will find themselves with a pencil jabbed in their kneecap, and lemon juice squeezed in their eyes.
"A bit of the old One-Two, One-Two, lemon in the eye".
And then we'll see who's ladylike, damnit.
KATE!