Ten thousand boxes...or not

Moving day is fast creeping up on the boy and I. After work today, I staggered up the two flights of narrow stupid stairs to my flat and dumped my stuff where I usually do, and then realized that we have to move in two days and we have a total of two, that's right, TWO boxes packed. For a brief, breathless moment, panic set in. Then my procrastination drive sputtered to life, slightly rusty as it hasn't really been needed since I used it last spring to write my 10,000 word dissertation in 3 days (Take that ya bastards! And you gave me a B13 for it too! Ha!), and I managed to convince myself that I didn't really need to pack anything just then and it could wait until after dinner.

I don't think you ever really know just how much stuff you have until you have to carry it in heavy cardboard boxes down several flights of stairs as the tape on the bottom gives way. Where does all this stuff come from? Why do I have a bottle of Advil that expired in 2001? The world will never know.