What Happened to All of My Stuff?

Retrospectively, my move to DC a year and half ago was pretty haphazard.  My newly-married sister volunteered to adopt the entire set of my really fantastic IKEA apartment furniture, and I didn’t really have enough stuff after that to get movers or arrange for anything really professional. 

This is the story of how I got really friendly with the UPS clerk. I mailed all of what I deemed “essential” in eighteen big boxes.  Yeah. That involved many, many trips down the hill in mom’s wagon, loading and unloading, shipping and signing.  Less a few casualties of the “fragile” variety, it all made it here, unpacked and added to over time.

I got spoiled living in Seattle.  My apartment was small, and I didn’t keep more than what I needed on a day-to-day basis.  Anything obscure that I needed?  Ski clothes, say, pictures of me as a child, or nice wine I’d stored in dad’s cellar? I’d just pop across the bridge and get it.  In my head, everything that I own—alongside most things I know my parents have somewhere—is chronicled in my head as “accessible.”

I got an email from a friend today, asking me to join her and some of her work colleagues on a hike tomorrow.  I like hiking; it’s something we did as a family a lot growing up.  I used to hate it.  Long weekends up at the mountain house were the bane of my existence as a child; while everyone else was sleeping in or sleeping over, shopping or hanging out, I was up at the crack of dawn, eating oatmeal (“sticks to your ribs,” mom would say), and getting dirty scaling a mountain.  I’m not and never have been a real nature girl, but I have warmed up to it over time. 

We’ll be hiking here, at Old Rag: http://www.hikingupward.com/snp/oldrag/  It’s supposed to be beautiful.

I came home from work and went to my closet.  “Hiking clothes,” I said, as if they’d just appear.  The hiking clothes did not cooperate.  I suspect that this is because they are on the west coast, in that pile of “I don’t need this enough to ship it”; labeled with the post-it saying “will call and ask for it if I need it.”  A bit late on that now, I’m afraid.

I do have my hiking shoes (I think I moved all of my shoes, howsoever impractical they were adjudged). They are grey and pink, and very adorable.  I have a lot of workout-y clothes, but nothing really attractive, and nothing that really coordinates with the shoes.

I also don’t have a backpack.  That’s a little bit troubling.  I know I must have three at home, at least, but all I come up with here is a dinky knapsack-thing that I got at a conference awhile back.  Unfortunately, it’s bright teal.  And says DIGITAL FREEDOM straight across it.

So, here’s me: pink shoes; black shorts; red tank top; teal bag.  Awesome!

I briefly considered going out and buying a whole hiking ensemble.  This friend I’m going with is a very manicured, always-put-together type of girl.  She’s a sweet girl, but honestly, it can get intimidating.  (And annoying when we meet up after work and, unbeknownst to me, she goes home and changes first.  This has happened twice.  So she’s all fresh and perky, and I’m there in my tired work clothes looking fatigued.  Boo).

I decided against a Friday night shopping excursion, though; if I haven’t needed them all this time, there’s no need to invest now.  If I think I really want to be outside all the time, I’ll pack some things back when I’m home in August.  And really, I’m kind of over the whole trying-to-be-perfect-to-please-others thing.

I have no idea who else is going—friends of hers from work, I think.  Ah.  IRS lawyers.  I’m still hating on the IRS, so if one, or maybe five of them don’t return?  Heh.

I invested a chunk of the forthcoming stimulus on a nice new addition to my kitchen, which arrived today.

Unfortunately, it arrived like this:

 

But, being something of a furniture-making genius, I transformed it into this:

 

Needs two adults, pish pish. 

Time for a celebratory glass of wine, I think.