If You Want It, You Don't Got It

I've mentioned that I'm moving shortly. Among the many interesting angles to this is is the practical consideration of the means by which one's possessions are safely consolidated and secured for the trip to their new home, however near or far it may be. Once in college, I moved from one dorm to another a couple blocks down the street. I did it all myself in a couple of trips with the aid of a jury-rigged rolling cart-box furnished by the dorm I was leaving. I left nothing behind, taking even the least remnants of food from the refrigerator. It was quick, easy and cheap. I didn't even have to spring for pizza to offer as thanks, which is good, because I don't know that I could have very easily. Of course, that's the lowest order of difficulty that moving comes in, strictly in terms of moving the stuff. The hardest would be something like when my family moved to the house that my parents still live in now, as there was so much stuff destined for all manner of different places in the new home.

What I'm dealing with now is somewhere in the middle, closer to the easy end. What's on my mind now is a very specific element of the process: boxes. The importance of and demand for boxes fluctuates wildly depending on the circumstances. Ordinarily, as boxes accumulate one disposes of them with the zeal of characters in a war movie who must lighten their chopper in order to escape at the end of some desperate mission. Consequently, when the day comes that one knows they are moving and badly, direly needs boxes, none are around. The change in attitude is as severe and sudden as a light switch. Even should it not be so for some, the effect is often the same when one is accustomed to small living quarters which don't tolerated the presence of seldom-needed, space-occupying possessions. Thus, the box hunt is on! A box hunt is joined with far greater urgency than a fox hunt. The latter is mere sport- a diversion. The former is undertaken for nothing less than survival.

The withdrawn shrinking violet learns to be both blunt and bold, so powerful is the motivation that drives them to procure boxes. They would otherwise never take such steps as going through garbage bins or making unorthodox inquiries of store managers and employees. The need for boxes changes a man in a way not dissimilar to the lust for gold, which has been known to turn friend against friend and end in dispassionate bloodshed. It's a remarkable transformation, and an essential one akin to the changes that enable man to win the affections of a woman and fulfill his biological imperative, but it is a transformation that ends as suddenly as it begins. Once the boxes have been procured, taped up, filled and moved to their destination, they are cut loose just as soon as can be by their cruel, capricious owner.

I am in the early going, seeking out the boxes. It's a hard thing for me, but I will do it as do all others, and for the same reason of necessity. One thing is for sure: I do not have, nor have I had or will I have any intention of paying for boxes. It would be as wrong as bringing food from Boston Market to a family Thanksgiving dinner. I'm trying very hard not to compromise my integrity in that way, lose my sense of self or alienate those who care about me. Given that another movie shall be following rapidly on the heels of this one, I shall probably need to find some way of keeping the boxes I am in the process of accruing. Happily, the boxes are conducive to this, as they easily collapse and fold up. I do not.