I don't function well when the silverware in the drawer is askew. Ready for this whole packing thing to be over.
Blair and I have started an experiment where beginning every night at 8, we disconnect from the Internet. No e-mail, no web surfing, no texting. The goal is to gradually move the disconnect time back to where we're spending the majority of our evenings technology free. (Except for TV. We're not giving up TV. Like, ever.)
We're only a few days in but already seeing positive results. Personally, I feel calmer and more centered. I don't worry about leaping up to check a text or to post something clever on Facebook. My time feels more my own.
I do find myself frantically checking e-mail or scanning Facebook at 7:45, 7:50 p.m., but it's actually a relief when the clock hits eight. I push back from my desk, turn my phone volume down (we're still accepting calls at this point) and turn the lights out in my office for the evening.
It's a little scary the pull technology has on me. When a commercial comes on or I finish reading a chapter or we take a break from packing, my instinct is always to go check my phone. And it's a strong instinct, an actual physical urge. I've read that constantly checking e-mail and Twitter and updates provides our bodies with an adrenalin like buzz and I believe it. I really think my body/mind is in a form of detox as we attempt this disconnect.
The good news is that I'm going to come out stronger on the other side. What the last four days has shown me is that there's just not anything that vital going on at 9 or 10 pm on the Internet that requires my attention. It--whatever that "it" may be--can wait until morning.
Who knew a mortgage was only the beginning? As I work through packing up our current home, I'm keeping a running list of "Things To Buy For Our Move to Barbie's Dream Home." So far I've got:
- 2 sets shower curtains and 3 sets of bath mats
- Bookshelves - 5 to 8 of them. Not kidding. We packed 30 boxes today, all of them books from the built-in bookshelves that our current home has and our new home does not. Prompting me to look at Blair about 1 p.m. today and ask, "Where the hell are we going to put all these books?!"
- Flat screen TV (okay, so we're late adapters)
- Shoe racks
- Decorative cotton ball holder
- Vanity chair for master bath
Blair and I spent the afternoon packing the library and front room. We were pulling photo albums and stray pictures out of a cabinet, deciding what stays and what goes.
"Is this your mom?" Blair asked, handing me a photo of a 10-year-old blonde girl with a bow in her hair that had been laquered within an inch of its life to a piece of wood (woodshop project, 7th grade).
"Yes," I said.
"And what about this little fella here?" said Blair, handing me a picture of a chubby baby in a blue sweater sitting on a couch. "Is this your dad?"
"That's me, you igit," I said.
Things took an ugly turn from there.