The Mess

Let me make it very clear from the offset, I am not a super house proud, everything in it's place, kind of a girl. As a general rule, my house is quite tidy, but not in a 'no one' lives here 'show home' kind of  way. Good grief, I have two teenage daughters, an orange dog and a black and white cat, who insists on fluffing all over my cream carpets, seconds after I have vacuumed them (I love the cat, but I do not love bits of the cat randomly scattered on freshly vacuumed carpet). I don't like mess! I love a cupboard and drawers. They're great for stashing crap in and giving the illusion that you are a super organised woman who has it all together; just don't open my cupboards or drawers! Please!

That said, I am certainly not, what one might call a hoarder. I go through said cupboards and drawers at least once a year, sometimes twice, and get rid of anything that is redundant. There really is only so much one can fit into a home before it bursts at the seams. And might I add, my loft is empty and my garage is pretty much empty, apart form a handful of things which are earmarked for the tip, once the fiance is free to come down with his trailer. To clarify, I don't like mess and at the moment, that is exactly what my home is, a mess!

Okay, so perhaps it's not as bad as the picture above, but it feels that way to me. At the beginning of the year I spent weeks clearing the house of unnecessary rubbish and was doing endless tip runs; I was almost on first name terms with the lovely chaps at the tip, and they were very helpful in assisting me to unload my crap. Though one trip did result in an £80 spend on a new tyre, but you run the gauntlet of stray nails and screws at such places.

Anyway, it was important to me to clear everything out before I put the house on the market. I can't think of anything worse than having to do that big clear out whilst trying to pack boxes. The very thought sends a shudder down my spine, though that could be the fact I have the windows open and it's still a bit chilly outside?

I was feeling rather pleased with myself. I'd cleared the house of unwanted tat and it was looking almost as if no one lived here, all ready for viewings. Oh god the viewings. How many times did I let the housework slip, only to get a call that someone wanted to view in four hours! I think I may have morphed into Wonder Woman on a number of occasions. It took a long old time, but we have now 'Sold,' at least we have a 'Sold' sign outside and things seem to be progressing, though you never really know, but I figured that perhaps given said sign, and given that it is just myself and the girls,  all the packing would likely fall to me (who am I kidding, all the packing will fall to me) I should probably make a start on boxing things up.

The first few boxes seemed like a good idea

I'm trying to pack around three boxes a week. We don't have a move date yet, so I think I can take it at a slow and steady pace. It seemed like a good idea. It still does, but why, oh why when I have so many boxes now packed does my house look like an absolute bomb site? Somehow, whilst things are going into boxes, other crap is finding it's way onto random surfaces, because I'm not sure where to put stuff I need kept out anymore. If I put it where it should live, will I accidentally shove it in a box? Not only that, but I'm finding stuff that I didn't know we had, which was the whole point of the 'pre putting the house on the market clear out!'

I can literally feel my stress levels rising. Thankfully, I have committed to a couple of book reviews, one is now complete (you can read the review here) and I'm part way through reading the second book, so I have to stop and relax. I am so glad I said I'd do these, otherwise my self care plan would have gone out the window, or should that be lost in a packing box?

Anyhow, one way or the other, I am determined to make this as 'stress free' a process as is humanly possible to do. I am not going down that dark road to depression over a house move; and so today, I shall be taking a leisurely walk with our little orange dog, before packing another box, attempting to regain some kind of order (I hear John Bercow is looking for a new job, perhaps he could help, he's very good at shouting, 'order,' though I don't know he actually managed to gain any control?) and sitting down with a cuppa or two, or three...

If you don't hear from me again, you'll know the boxes won.