That’s a pretty good representation of the pattern of my weekend. It was like Shredfest ‘04 in my apartment all day Saturday and Sunday. You should have seen the line-up: Phone bills! Bank statements! Credit card receipts! Movie stubs! All those records that I found so necessary to hold onto for many, many years (I won’t say how many years. Okay, eight years. Yeah, yeah, I know) are finally, irrevocably gone. Ripped up into little bitty strips and sitting in a pile in my trash can. I almost collected enough of them to form a cushiony layer across the floor of my entire apartment, a technique I’m pretty sure I’ve seen featured on “Trading Spaces.”
Shredding is fun, but even machines need to take a break once in a while. After a good stretch of constant shredding, the shredder would overheat and shut itself down, at which point I’d work on eliminating that other pesky overrun in my apartment—red wine. There’s no sense in moving quarter-full (or is it three-quarter-empty?) wine bottles to the new place, right? So I did myself a favor and moved the wine from the bottle to my belly instead.
Between the shredding and the drinking was the packing. Oh golly was there packing. The problem with being spatially gifted (more on that later) is that you seem to never seem to run out of places to stuff things. Every time it seemed clear that we were reaching the home stretch, we’d open up another cupboard or closet we forgot about and bushels of crap would come tumbling out. Good thing it was egg delivery day at the Jewel, presenting us with an abundance of egg shipping boxes that saved our very tired, very sore heinies.
I’d say we’re finally almost done, but really that’s just wishful thinking. Let’s just leave it at: good thing we’re not out of wine.