My life threw up all over.

Disclaimer:  This post contains images that may bring anxiety to any that associate themselves as 'neat freaks', 'organized', or 'OCD'. 

I've almost been home an entire week and I've learned college has completely ruined any enjoyment that moving new places could have given me. I used to think that packing up my life every 6-9ish months would be exciting and symbolic and whatever. Obviously, it's only made me cynical and cranky. 

Last week, I packed up my dorm room for the last time, and the stress of bringing everything I owned - actually, that should be 'kept', since I ended of donating some things last minute out of frustration - rained in heavier than ever. The challenge I've arisen to each time? A game of human Tetris; how neatly can I pack boxes, bags, and other useless but meaningful crap in my car while taking up as little space as possible? 

First, you should know a few things about me. I hate clutter, love organization, and the former stresses me out. I always have a plan and accompanying list for everything, so packing for things is usually reasonably enjoyable for me. 

It all started off good with the trunk. I finagled two stuffed suitcases and lots of boxes and crates into the trunk, and was feelin' pretty accomplished. 

...And then I got to the back seat. I started off stacking Rubbermaid totes in June Cleaver fashion, but before I knew it, it escalated into this:

11 hours of anxiety. Who can spot the wedding dress?

Q:  What does one do when blinded from their blind spot?
A:  Strain your neck like an ostrich and say a prayer. 

All to quickly, the mess multiplied itself into my front seat. I was surrounded. 

I'm sure a human would have made for a much less
stressing - and boring - passenger.

When I finally reached my rural SD home, I was relieved to be free of my car. I had spent too much time in there, and feeling sorry for the Cobster (my car, pronounced Kobe-Stir), I immediately started to unload the pounds of belongings weighing my poor vehicle down. After a good 20 minutes of unpacking, I laid my eyes on what I had achieved...or so I thought.

Instead of cleaning up the mess that had been in my car, I moved a majority of it into my room - the one place I retreat to in my family of 6's bustling home. The phrase I had been using to describe my car at this point was "My life has vomited in my car." Seeing the mess I'd made at home, it was time to play janitor like a third-grade class had gotten food poisoning from cafeteria corn dogs. 

Recently named 'suitcase corner'.

I can truthfully say that after 6 full days at home, things are looking cleaner over here on 269th Street. I'll keep you posted - or, just post later - on the final products of my unpacking/sorting/cleaning up life's vomit. Merry Christmas, friends!