Coming out of storage

So after max encouragement from Betty, I called the storage company and arranged to have the container shipped to my studio. Ironically, the truck couldn't maneuver it up my street, or into my parents driveway so I had to have it shipped to my old house.

All things are circular. Everything begins where it ends.

So I thought it would be an easy process, and you know I really believed this. What could possibly go wrong? It's my table, some ottomans, my Grandma's vanity, my washing machine and some bits and pieces.

I opened the container and I did a little blink. I had greatly underestimated the amount of furniture I used to own. In addition to the above there was also

• two side tables
• two outdoor tables
• a bookshelf
• more chairs
• boxes of electronic gear
• easels
• seven paintings
• tool sets
• suitcases
• a coat rack
  
• a heater and a fan

I blinked again to make sure what I was seeing and then I had to sit down because I could feel myself launching into a full-on unparalleled panic attack. Breathe. breathe. breathe. What the heck am I going to do with all of this stuff?? And how come I didn't remember any of it?

My first instinct was to close the container back up, lock it and send it back into storage. I could pretend that it didn't exist and no-one [other than my bank account] was going to be worse for wear.

Or I could man up and grow some cojones. Of course, growing cojones takes a bit of time, so during that period I stood there and gaped at the container some more. It took about an hour to get my shit together and peel myself from that spot. I'm sure my former neighbours were wondering what the hell I was doing. Maybe performance art or something.

Anyway, [with the help of my cousin Little J - handily at home on a Friday night] I had moved half of it by midnight, yeah- it took five hours to move half of the fiddly stuff.

So the moral of the story is firstly: If you ever decide to move your entire house into storage- for God's sack, take inventory! Or will you end up as a hyperventilating mess and the second moral of the story is when the situation calls for it, you have to stand your ground and grow some nuts. They don't have to be too big, they just have to be enough to get you through.