Who here likes packing for a move? Raise your hand.
Put that arm down, you lying son of a bitch.
No one likes packing. It’s dirty, tedious and frustrating. The goal is to take order, turn it into colossal mess, and then return it into another sort of order that’s completely useless to you and that resembles nothing better than a cardboard-box Lego set.
It’s an excavation of the minutiae of a life, but who has time for archaeology when you’re under the moving-day gun? There are the photos that there’s no time to browse through; the book collection that used to bring pride and joy and now brings backaches; the cassette tapes that have been dragged around since high school and go directly into the garbage. I haven’t had a tape player in three years. And who the hell remembers the JudyBats? Oh, well.
Now, where’s that fucking packing tape?!