She honestly needs to just bite him

So when I was moving from Canada to the UK I hit a roadblock in the shape of the fifteen metric tons of crap I'd accumulated over the course of five years: books and CDs and crystals, an incense holder, a yoga mat, a tripod, a collection of posters that I now hate, rugs and sweaters and pants and scarves, about seven jackets I never wear, all of my papers and documents, and of course my electronics (which for now are surviving on a transformer).

With absolutely no idea how to do anything, and floundering among seas of things that I kind of water to leave behind, but couldn't, I plugged 'ship stuff' into Google and found Seven Seas Worldwide. The experience was decent. Fairly fast delivery of empties, and you're supplied with bubble wrap and tape to boot. There's a shit-ton of paperwork to fill out, but it takes an hour tops; you can choose air or sea freight, but the latter is cheaper, though it takes far longer.

(This didn't irk me, since I don't foresee desperately needing talc scented candles or a wooden turkey with a bobbing head within the next two months.)

Honestly, the logistics of it wasn't the problem. The problem was packing. The problem was actually picking the shit up and placing it in the boxes.

Over the years, as a frequent mover, I've learned how to throw things away. Things are just things. But I've let my skill slide. I had to pry silly things like old embarrassing journals from my preteens from my claw-like hands and stuff them into garbage bags with the sort of agony reserved for euthanizing pets.

Maybe that's just a symptom of dropping down roots. When I was a child we moved frequently; after my first emigration my inventory was streamlined to within an inch of its life. We didn't take things, not only because we were shipping them, but because we didn't have anywhere to put them when we arrived. We didn't have a home. We had rooms, and those rooms had a short expiration date.

I don't know if it's a me thing or if it's a traveller thing, to have so little of one's own. Honestly, I don't begrudge it. In the end, everything I owned fit into three cardboard boxes, a book box, and a suitcase. And right now, while I'm floating, that's good enough for me.