Oh the decisions that one is called upon to make when moving.  What items are keepers and which ones are givers-away.  The pressure of being the decider of the fate of inanimate objects is enough to make one sit inert for days on end.  Especially for a someone like me who is well known in my family and circle of friends for being the quirky one who names her inanimate objects and carries on two-way conversations with said named objects. 

Object (“O”):  Please don’t set me out on the sidewalk for anyone of any moral or immoral character to take me.

Me:  But it’s your time to go.

O:  Please.  Please keep me.

Me:  I think your next home will be kinder to you – your face won’t get so dusty and your view might be better.  You know you sat in that corner for five years. 

O:  And I never complained.  Now that must be worth something.

And the debate goes on and on.  Do you see the pressure of which I speak?  I have had visions of setting everything out on the sidewalk or the trash can and running away.  No forwarding address.  No note left behind.  Less dramatically, I have also had visions of just packing everything.  Not sorting.  Just picking up each and every thing in the Attic that we have acquired and putting all of the stuff into boxes to be sorted through at a later date.  But there is the small matter of the moving pallets and the storage fees. 

So I have returned to the original plan of sorting and packing.  Oh but it’s tiresome.  Fatiguing as well.  Exhausting too.