Eighty percent of everything I own is packed in my car.
The process of moving my life to St. Louis has begun, and I’ll be putting a lot of my belongings into a storage unit in Wood River, Ill., tomorrow. For the last week, I’ve been staring at boxes and trying to figure out what shapes fit into what and how to be most economical so that I could get as much as possible into my Ford Focus.
Then I’ll be borrowing my parents mini-van to move what’s left — large furniture items and my electronics that I couldn’t live without. And finally, as of Aug. 2, I’ll be living out of a couple bags and the van for at least a couple weeks while I continue to seek employment in St. Louis and work part-time at the Missourian in Columbia.
I’ve arranged places to sleep so I won’t have to do that in the van, but I won’t have a closet or a kitchen or a desk. It promises to be interesting and hopefully I’l find work before my job in Missouri is up so I can find an apartment.
Until that time, I’ll be seeing a lot of boxes.
It’s strange how integral that shape is to our lives. I suppose it makes sense in a way, and I know there’s some math to determine volume, which would probably prove it is actually completely logical and simple, but math doesn’t dictate surprise.
We build box offices, we sleep on box beds and we eat square meals (Squares are a lot like boxes, so just give it to me, OK?).
Why? Couldn’t we have just as arbitrarily chosen to live in octagons or cylinders?
No. That would be as annoying as hell. Everything would roll around or just leave a ton of space that you couldn’t use. I guess it’s not really surprising.
Oh life, you win again.