The Moving Chronicles #2

I've just packed most of my books into boxes. Two of those boxes will be following me where ever I go. Another two of those boxes are filled with books who need new homes. 

Some of them, I couldn't even think of giving away even though I've outgrown them. One of them is a collection of abridged classic stories which my late paternal grandfather gave me when I was eight years old. I cannot think of giving it away, as it's the only think which I remember most vividly he gave to me. 

Some books, well, I couldn't give away because I'm reminded how they were with me through difficult times, especially during my teenage years, when I was a shy, bespectacled and chubby teenager, hoping desperately that things would get better, but until then, I would want to hide in books, immersing myself in this fantasyland where things WERE better. I cannot think of giving them away just because of the memories they come with.

I just realized what a problem it is with me being such an indiscriminate reader (actually, book hoarder). I've accumulated books which has accompanied me since I was a child and they consist of a diverse range of genres, which surprises me even now. 

Can you imagine, I learnt to read at four years old. Imagine the amount of books which I've accumulated? 

In other news, I've also got a backache from lifting boxes and books the wrong way and I've promised facebook to come up with a list of books which I want to give away. I'm not sure whether packing is scarier or that is. 

Mel out.

The Moving Chronicles #1

I blame all those reality TV shows. Like those extreme apartment makeover type shows. It's all their fault. 

Ok, granted that the Mother doesn't watch them, but it helps me to cope with this if I have something to blame which is not myself.

We are going to renovate the house I have been staying in for the past 17 years of my life. And we're talking about major renovation. Like, if my house was a person, we're talking about an organ transplant, implants and cosmetic surgery. 

That means:

• 17 years of junk accumulated has to be moved.
• Moving said junk OUT from a large, double storey terrace house.
• Moving said junk INTO to a much smaller house. 
• Furniture being moved. Lots of furniture.
• Lots of accumulated junk to be packed and moved.
• Packing fragile knickknacks. Lots of them.
• Lots of packing, manuvering of furniture and moving from the current house to another house. 
• Current house taking month(s) to renovate.
•  Packing, manuvering of furniture and moving from the another house back to the current house once the renovation work is done.

That and the fact that I will be getting married next year, I predict oncoming months of hormonal meltdowns, backaches, headaches and all the stress that comes with moving out of a house and planning a wedding.

 So I started this blog instead to:

•  Help me cope with the oncoming stress. 
• Save money on therapy/counselling by writing it out instead.
• Exaggerate the situation wildly and emphasize the drama of moving out.
• Challenge myself to look at the humorous side of what I deemed as a stressful time. 

So if anything, remember this: Nothing in this blog is to be taken seriously. 

Last night, I did a pilates workout in the living room, surrounded by sofas and boxes. This however, is true, serious and without exaggeration.

Mel out.