Someday, I will look back on the move from Virginia to Idaho with rose colored glasses, and remember this as a bucolic time, filled with wonder and excitement. I'm an optimist in that way, and while I know the memories will be a bit skewed from reality, I'm okay with that. In the meantime, I am in the process of packing up everything I own, which is truly it's own circle of hell.
This was my cubicle, which was like a cross between a perfectly organized library and a hoarder's newspaper heap.
Home is much neater, but is also complicated by the vast numbers of cats that live here, which makes doing certain tasks both more fun and more challenging at the same time. Clearly, they know something's up, but mostly, they just want to play with, in, or on whatever I am trying to pack up.
Not-Yet-God-Emporer Leto was "helping" me clean the fridge.
Later on, he went derp-derp-derping in the hall closet. I can leave nothing unattended when he is awake.
The trade off when packing is to determine whether to be a little more diligent on the front end, or to let a level of entropy seep into the packing stage and require a corresponding amount of energy on the unpacking and putting away part. I like the front-loaded effort, and have the unpacking be more leisurely. This is related to the time I have left, though. As the hour draws near to departure, there's only so much effort that each box can get.