6. You can’t take it with you.
If it can’t fit in two suitcases it isn’t coming.
Two. That’s fightin’ talk right there.
I move on the 16th and I’m at six. Seven if you count the camera case. Technically the computer bag would make it eight. Except there’s also a backpack. So realistically we’re looking at ten pieces. Give or take.
It’s a start. There are options.
First, and to be truthful, probably the most appealing option is to lie. I mean you’d never know, and I’m certainly not telling anyone. Also why would you even care?
The real flaw is that I’d know. Also, since we’re only just getting started, it feels a bit obvious to revert to type so quickly.
But let’s not rule anything out.
The second, is to tell the truth. I mean, sure, I could. But man-packs-entire-life-into-ten-suitcases isn’t a scroll stopper. Not really a story about radical change. It’s not even a story.
Both options defeat the purpose a bit.
The third, is to keep going. Two problems here; I’m not a great finisher. That’s just what the data says. But the real difficulty is throwing stuff away. Anything at all. Even stuff with no value.
I'm always, for example, writing phone numbers down on a sheet of paper. Important numbers. One number per sheet usually. I wouldn’t throw any of them out, as they might come in handy later.
They might come in handy, if I’d also written who they belonged to.
Not a first offence sadly, and not the only charge.
Rooting around in a box, I found a 2005 water bill attached to a note from a property manager. Paula wondered if I could mail them a cheque to cover $67.85 and apologised for the delay as the account had only just come in. Bless.
2005. Really? It’s not just the 20 years that’s worrying. It’s the fact I’ve moved it eight times.
Now that you can see what I'm up against, a mere ten or so is quite an achievement.
Some things won’t fit in a suitcase, and I plan to donate a heap to a local outfit called Re-source. They do good work, keeping stuff out of landfill and recycling whatever they can through the local community.
There’s kitchen stuff they’re desperate for. I’ve got some furniture, a television, a bike, and linen. It will all get re-homed or recycled.
The real drawcard from my end was they’d come and pick everything up.
“I’ve also got two beds" I explained to Leonie.
“We need photos of the mattresses” she replied.
The mattresses were in good condition I assured her. Not brand new, but protected and 'perfectly decent scratchers', as Hughesie used to say.
I hoped they were. There's no delicate way to explain a mattress stain. There are limited options. It can’t vaguely be from 'any number of things.' You can narrow it down quite a bit.
Like I said. Not brand new.
A mattress isn’t like a hoodie or shirt that you might have accidentally got something on. You didn’t spill paint on the mattress. That’s not oil from the car. It wasn’t in the kitchen when you were making beetroot salad.
You can’t even say “oh, yeah, that was from a cup of tea” without raising an eyebrow.
I mean, I knew it was tea, but would Leonie?
Yes, the plan was to share everything. Didn’t expect to be sharing so much so soon.
I was right about one thing though;
Changing course is a messy business.
The Full Catastrophe is a real-time account of change, chaos and consequence.
There's 63 of us here now. I'm getting rid of the chairs, so that’ll free up a bit more space. I’ve nearly caught up to real-time but moving won't wait - so Tuakiri runs next week. Unless something comes up.
Can’t imagine you’ll want to miss either.
Tell the others.
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