A Plague of Cardboard

Let's all get our grumpiness out, together

Approximately 1/500th of the collective cardboard demon in my abode

Have you ever moved? It typically involves many boxes, even if you’ve downsized, minimized, and Marie Kondo’d the hell out of your belongings prior to said move. I have had, by my last count, over 25 addresses in my human life. I have moved A Lot. And I am at the point in moving in which I would like to murder all the cardboard. I don’t think this is actually possible, but I have fantasies.

I know this is not always the way, because sometimes you’ve got to get the hell out of where you’ve got to get the hell out of, without the luxury of schlepping beloved items from hither to yon. But in most non-crisis situations, you’re going to pack things, or have them packed for you, and then you’re going to own a lot of cardboard.

I was going to lead with this precious little image, but it appears too falsely boho chic and minimalist, as if I were an organized person.

I am sitting in a lovely home, wearing clean, cozy Winnie the Pooh pajamas that I call “loungewear for day,” and I am infinitely and extraordinarily fortunate. I have some very kind, understanding people in my life. I’m sober. I am eating a good carrot, which is crunchy and not limp and flaccid (you know the kind.) I am grateful for much!

Still, I find myself full of a truly impressive amount of rage. There will be space for YOU to unload about petty annoyances in the comments below, because what else is a Monday post for?