I May Need a Packing Intervention

It is no secret to any of you that I tend to be wordy.  

I see it as a gift. 

I believe only a divine God would form and make me to take 20 minutes to complain tell a story to the hubs about finding an empty cream cheese container in the fridge after toasting my bagel to complete perfection and then having to scrape the sides of the cream cheese container with the bagel, completely robbing me of the afterglow I achieve after eating something that quite possibly will OD me on carbs.

And I truly am nearing my point.

So in the midst of throwing every conceivable thing NOT NAILED DOWN into a box, I have found that a novel length explanation is necessary for each box as I label it.  Like the origin and history of the item, where it will go in the new house, where it was in the old house, how many molecules comprise the particular object.  And yet not one person or friend bats an eye to the fact that it takes longer for me to label the box than to pack it.

And it does not help that I feel guilt ridden that I am packing magazines. 

From 2005.  

This may require an intervention of some sort but I assure you that I still refer back to them.  Often.  For recipes. Crafty goodness. Various tips. If I use them for fashion sense 20 years from now, I will understand your alarm.  And I do know what I am supposed to do.  A good organizer keeps an idea notebook (and I do) and takes out what she needs.  But I always wonder what if there is something in here I need but I don't know that I need it? And I always discover there is something I do need.  So I keep them.  I promise there are not 6 foot towers of magazines with a pathway cut out to navigate through the house. Really.

Can I sidebar here?  This post was something I envisioned in 2 sentences.  I believe I am physically unable to to wrote a short post.  I marvel at these Wordless Wednesday posts.  I would have to sneak something in there.  An adjective. An explanation point!  Or a :o).  Something.  I would have to give my two cents.

So I shall digress to my point. I packed magazines. To move with. And I believe angels from heaven whose specific purpose is to hedge around the intentional pack rat bestowed upon me a gift catered for me.

A box to fit the magazine holders to organize my useless collection of them.  When I fit  them in there I actually basked in such a beautiful moment. I just rested on my heels in utter awe of the moment.  Here it is...

Do you see how worn some of those pages are?  See?  I use them?  Call me a Green Magazine Hoarder.  I am good with the title.  But I am not good with the ever present guilt for the servant hearted human being who will endeavor to lift this box and possibly incur a hernia due to my apparent need to collect what should be trash.

So I wrote yet another note on a box to this unsuspecting friend...

I am convinced this will be the balm that will neutralize their fury.  

Wait.  

I am going to go back and write:

P.S.  Remember to bend at the knees!