half the visual bulk

By noon on Sunday, all of the dishes had been unpacked. This was more difficult than it sounds, as nearly every container (cabinet, drawer, fridge, closet) is one-half the size of the equivalent at the old place. I try to contain my feelings of thwarted imperialist and consider tossing half of our condiments.

It's not a practical solution, so for the time being we'll just have to go to the market half as often.

The unpacking, or more accurately, shuffling boxes from room to room so we and the cats can move about, is less stressful than anticipated. In general, my compulsion to put things away is strong--so I'm contending with that as well as the more general visual confusion (boxes everywhere disgorging their guts) of things not just in the wrong place, but so out of place (toiletries in the kitchen, speakers on sofas, tools on the piano) as to make my vision buckle.

It is somewhat unsettling to see one's life amassed in boxes; less so the thought of so many boxes, more that it is so packageable. Stowing half the visual bulk in the basement minimizes this sensation, until I realize that half of the boxes take up most of the basement.