Crazy cat lady

Here’s how it went down:

Saturday evening, after DARK, the 26 foot diesel arrived at our new home. It was filled to the brim with our shit, not a speck of breathing room. My parents had summoned some church folks to come help us unload. We couldn’t have done it without this help. It would have taken us days on our own. Unfortunately, there was a downside. With 7 adults furiously moving our stuff in, there was no way that anything could be monitored. It was all streaming in at warp speed, things getting stacked and placed haphazardly in all directions. After taking off several different doors, and attempting to remove a window, we came to the final realization that our couch would not fit. The couch that we still owe full price on. The couch that was BROKEN while strangers tried to jam it through the front door. Thus, the couch is now worthless to us, and worthless to anyone else.

Once the truck was about halfway emptied, my Dad came to me with a very serious look on his face and said “Estella, you’re going to have to decide what you can part with. Because trust me, it aint all fittin’ in here.” It was a horrifying moment for me. I looked around the house at the boxes stacked to the ceiling, only narrow pathways to move from room to room. I ran out to the truck to see how much more was to come. It seemed neverending.

After we had shoved as much as we could inside 1100 square feet of house, it started getting piled up in the yard. I started having a panic attack. There were tears of frustration.

I wish I would have taken pictures for you, because there is no way to explain with words the sort of cluster fuck our house was (and still is currently.) In some parts of the house, you are unable to cross the room without climbing over large pieces of furniture. In Animal’s bedroom, we are floor to ceiling packed. So packed that the door to the bedroom doesn’t even close. Many of the things we actually need are on the bottom middle of the heap.

I’m totally disgusted by how much STUFF I have accumulated over the years. And I’m not even a packrat–not by any means. I feel like a hoarder, like a crazy cat lady who has stacks of newspapers dating from 1950 and on filling her tiny cat-piss-smelling apartment. I don’t know where to start or what to do. I don’t have any room to do anything really, and so I turn myself in circles and wander around, confused. There are piles of shit outside of my house that are covered in tarps. There is so much that has been ruined. An enormous truckload of my stuff has already been carted off to Goodwill, and there will be countless more loads to follow.

Pray for me, people. I could really use it.

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3 Responses to “Crazy cat lady”


  1. 1 Libby January 3, 2007 at 5:26 pm

    Hang in there….it’ll get better. I’ve had this happen. Moved into a 1500 sq.ft. apt. after living in 3500 sq. ft. of space. We scaled down before moving and still had crap stacked to the ceiling in nearly every room. It really makes you realize what’s important and what’s just baggage, doesn’t it?

    Take care and try not to be too stressed!

  2. 2 thordora January 3, 2007 at 9:24 pm

    Take a deep breath and purge.

  3. 3 J January 6, 2007 at 7:31 am

    Moving sawks, no doot aboot it.


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