Them's the Facts, Ma'am.

Fact. I am a packing machine. Things are snug and sorted and shrink wrapped to prevent breakage or scuffing. Boxes are planned to be full and yet Not Too Heavy.

Fact. Stuff is labelled and marked so I know what's inside.

Fact. I work room by room in a remarkably ordered fashion and sort through stuff as I go.

Fact. I am a taper. Me and the packing tape are bosom buddies. (Well, except for the Lip Incident, but that may have been my fault.)

Fact. I would like to be as ordered and fastidious when I unpack. I would like to move in to a room then unpack Everything for that room, make it all orderly and shiny, dust and vacuum/mop and then stand back and survey a Room Well Done. BUT...

Fact. My garage is a jumble of boxes and furniture with boxes mixed amongst other stuff; and stuff that I need is behind stuff that is impossible to move by myself and all my labelling was pointless cause everything is Here, There and Everywhere and I may just stab myself with something dull before the day is over and that would be a shame cause...

Fact. I'm sposed to be starting something new and wonderful this week and I'm thinking that adapting my game plan to something a little more loosey-goosey might work well in my favor. Sure will beat the alternative straight jacket and happy pill combo.

So, uhh.... here's to being a bit more relaxed and a lot less OCD.