my boxes: the conclusion

I've had a lot of time to myself today. What did I choose to do? Well, let's see. I watched Laguna Beach at 8:30am, so that pretty much cleared up my schedule for the day quite early. Micah is working. To be honest, I cherish time alone. That might sound bad, but I think it's entirely healthy.

I was feeling bad about the state of the box closet/pantry. Micah has done some major cleaning lately (and lest you think I'm a lazy schlub, he's been off work because of the constant rain and I clean on the weekends. Also, I clean A LOT more than I used to) and I'm not a total bitch. I can see when I'm wrong, see the effort he's put into making our apartment look great, and that maybe this time a compromise is in order.

So I pulled every fucking box out of the closet/pantry.


You guys, that wasn't even all of them. I found two behind the towers after the picture and realized I forgot to pull out about 5 that were nested in other boxes. (I am so lame that I laid down on the floor to get this shot so the towers would seem taller. What is wrong with me? Like I'm proud or something.)

(Maybe a little.)

These are GOOD BOXES. The one with the blue stripe is as tall as my waist, and there are two of those bad boys in my collection. That brown box in the front on the floor? I think I've had that box for approximately five moves. The microwave (the sweet, sweet new microwave*) box contains the unbroken styrofoam for convenient repacking.

The manner in which these boxes were put into the pantry could be best summed up as willy-nilly. I wasn't practicing good box nesting, and I hardly attempted to keep the boxes on the shelves. I decided early on that the cavernous pantry was going to be my scary closet, the one I warn people not to open. The disaster zone needed to be dealt with.

I am making a compromise, you see. Newlywed 101.

So I cleaned. I pulled some things out of that closet that I had completely forgotten existed, including my holiday wrapping paper (nice timing, me!) and the sad remains of some "art" Noles and I created when we were roommates in Chicago. It involves bamboo poles and tissue paper that's all I'm saying about that.

Ok, fine, I found some boxes that weren't worthy. Survival of the fittest. My five-move box has moved, proudly dangling layers of packing tape, a sixth time. Can you guess where? This afternoon approximately 30 boxes were banished to the cold and rancid darkness of our dumpster. I don't really want to talk about it. I'd rather remember the good times.

After the boxes were abandoned, I moved the fridge! I have been wanting to move the fridge for months! The kitchen has been reborn.

When I do get off my ass and clean, I go tits to the wall. I see one spot, then another, and after five hundred tiny distractions, rearrangements, and wafts of my own pit funk, I realize those dishes are DONE, man, and when I say dishes I mean you could safely eat off any surface in the fucking kitchen. I feel proud of myself when I clean all day. My standards are shifting, I guess.

Here is the pantry's new look. Half boxes, half empty shelf space (not pictured), which is mighty apropos. Compromise is the word of the day.

*Our microwave, it gleams. It glistens. The handle, which happens to be a she, is spunky and dynamic. The appliance gets shined with a soft dish towel and inpected for spots daily. I love it and am ever so grateful to A & H for bestowing her upon our humble home. Thank you!