Packing

I feel as though it's the end of an era, but I've really only been living the adult life for just under 2 years now. I ended my job at the UW hospital a week ago. Since then I've attended 2 potentially morally corruptible drug rep dinners (amazing dinners though, not to mention I had great company to roll my eyes with for both), attempted to learn Twi, made it to a few prenatal visits with some at home-birth midwives, made a lot of phone calls, changed my mailing addresses, and packed. We move out this Saturday then will live in the desolate apartment for another few days. Packing is defined per Webster's as 1. a bundle arranged for convenience in carrying especially on the back 2. a group or pile of related object. I beg to differ, I would define it as 1. finding things you thought/wished you had rid yourself of long ago 2. better done in company of a friend vs. your engineer/husband counterpart 3. the act of adding stress to an already stressful situation (i.e. moving) 4. using carcinogenic markers that give non-headache sufferers a headache to label the box of junk you've been suckered into keeping 5. the act of putting too many heavy things in a really big box then dislocating a vertebrae while trying to carry this heavy box down 2 flight of stairs. I really dislike packing, probably as close to hate on the dislike scale as I get. I also dislike labeling, although I understand its purpose. Enough ranting about packing, I'd better change my attitude as the same friend who come to drug rep dinners and carefully packs my breakable kitchen things for me is coming this afternoon to help me finish stashing my life-in-things into boxes.

June 1st is coming very soon, before I know it I will be unpacking the few things I have brought to Ghana to begin the next era of my life.