Storage to the Back Burner

     Do I even need to tell you that the storage move turned out to be a disaster? Or you guessed that already? 

     We were deep in grid-locked traffic on the ring road -- not moving in a single lane through a quaint little suburb -- when the storage guy called. I had talked to him already that morning, before we left, trying to coordinate his approximate arrival time so we wouldn't be stuck waiting there for hours like the day before.

     All okay, he had said. You're a priority today. Yep, noon, we'll be there. 

     And now, 45 minutes before we're supposed to meet there, nope, can't be there until the late afternoon. 

     But we're already on our way. 

     Another day, mate. Any other day. 

     Any other day? What about the past two days? 

    And the fact we've paid for this move already? You were insistent you needed to be paid before anything happened.

    No problem. We'll keep track. Just do it another day, mate.  

    My husband, who pulled a back muscle the first day of the storage move, was only too happy to give it all up. The traffic was already getting on his nerves. And he needed to rest his back so he could go back to work today. He made a quick U-turn.

    So that's that for awhile. Stuff still in two different storage facilities on opposite ends of London. Need to organize another move another day.

    I don't want to think about it for awhile though. Doesn't help.

    It just made me sad to see all my stuff again, to again be confronted with the fact that I'm just an unpacked box, as my old newspaper buddy described me (by the way, girl, wanna fly over for lunch?).

    And being sad doesn't help my situation here at all.

   So, all you unpacked boxes in our crammed-to-the-hilt containers: To the back burner, I banish you!