Small Boxes
Photo courtesy of Gratisography
Saturday, April 25th, 2026When I pack, I only buy small boxes. Not because I have small things, but because I’m really good at Tetris. If a box is too big, it can get too heavy. Small boxes, even solidly packed, can still be carried.
I’ve owned my house for 10 days.
A lot has been done. Not nearly enough has been done.
I’m leaving soon for a trip, which has created a very small window of time where certain things need to happen before I go, and other things simply can’t happen until I get back. I made a list of the before-I-go things. It’s long, but contained. I’ve been trying—mostly successfully—not to add anything to it.
Things come up. Schedules shift. I’m trying hard not to let it turn into more, more, more...
If I’m lucky, I can treat myself to a mani-pedi before I go.
The easiest place to start was to move everything out of my 5”x7” storage unit, nearly the smallest unit they rent.
For insurance reasons, I needed to be out by the end of the month, which meant before I left. My housemate and I each loaded up our cars and made a trip. The next day, I went back alone and got the last of it. Boxes, primarily. Most of it was things I hadn’t seen in two years. Things I had deemed worthy enough to keep and invest in enough to store and immediately pushed them out of my mind until I could have them again. Unpacking is gonna be like Christmas morning where everything is exactly what I wanted.
I spent an hour measuring – walls, doors, windows – to mock up a rough blueprint of each floor. Not because I need it immediately, but because I will want to move little drawings of furniture around to assess sizing and positioning.
Not everything has a place yet. But it will.
Later that night, I brought one last delicate thing back with me. It belongs to a friend. It didn’t have a good place to live in the house, so I sent it to storage to keep it safe.
The very last item was too big for my car. I would need to call in a favor later in the week. This wasn’t a surprise. I knew I would need help when I moved it into the space.
The next morning, the internet was being installed.
I opted for fiber because I know it’s faster than… whatever regular internet is. There was also a special where the price stays the same for “life,” which is defined as the life of how long they decide to keep this particular package, not my life, or the life of how long I live in the house, or the life of the equipment. Does fiber ever die? Anyway…
While I waited, I assembled furniture.
My beloved yellow table came first—the same bile-citron one I bought more than 15 years ago for my New York apartment. I love it. I still love it. It’s seen some wear, and it endured a noticeable scratch while in storage, but it’s still that same great gross color!
After measuring everything the day before, I’m slightly concerned it might be too big. I don’t have a lot of space for a table. I need a couch first, which is one of the things that has to wait and which I am also having trouble finding in the shape, color, fabric and configuration I’m envisioning.
Then there’s the iridescent coffee tables. Still a good decision. Along with the Blue sideboard, it’s all going to look great on the weirdly shaped rug I have in mind.
What I don’t have are chairs. Not even one.
Choosing dining chairs is one of the hardest decisions to make when setting up a house, and I have no interest in making it right now. So I unrolled my yoga mat, folded it into thirds, and sat on that. Coffee table as desk. Phone as hotspot.
Welcome to my new WFH situation.
Just in time to meet the internet service technician.
I learned, slowly, that the cables hanging out of my house—the ones I was told were for the internet—were not, in fact, for this kind of internet.
There was some back and forth. Some confusion on my technically deficient part. From him, a brief, passionate defense of fiber speeds to support all the activities I will never engage in.
Eventually, I gave in. Because he’s here. And I already rescheduled three times. And if I did it again, there would be more questions that I don’t know how to ask and don’t want to answer.
We moved on to where the modem would live.
I wanted it in the closet downstairs. I don’t want to see it. This decision dictated everything else—where the hole would be drilled, where the wire would enter, how it would connect to the box outside, how that box would sit alongside the other boxes already there, the path the wire would take from the pole down the side of the house.
I told him, “You will not make this ugly.”
I was joking. I was not joking. I was definitely notjoking.
There is already an excess of utility boxes on the outside of the house. I don’t want another one announcing itself. If something has to be there, it should at least try to disappear. Speaking of disappearing, that wire better be fantastic at playing hide and seek.
He looked a little surprised. But he listened.
We negotiated. We found something that worked for both of us.
There’s a coil of wire I wasn’t warned about. It’s not ideal. But it’s way up there. The rest of it is tucked along an existing pipe, secured, and relatively hidden. The box is low, grouped with the others. The modem is in the closet. I got the best that I could get.
Except, there’s no outlet in the closet. So the wires snake out along the floor for about three feet in the room to the nearest outlet.
“Install outlet in closet” added to to-do list. Right after “Install dog door”
There are still six unused cables hanging out of the front of the house. I can’t cut them off. I should probably protect them in some way in case they need protection from something.
Mostly, I’m hoping the bush in front of them grows fast.
The next morning, the washer and dryer were delivered.
I bought a top-loading stackable unit from Costco. They brought it in, installed it, ran a cycle, and left. It was low interaction and seamless. Probably the easiest job they had all day.
On the other hand, I was having feelings. I consulted people in the know, did the research to find what I needed, and bought a major appliance. Then scheduled the delivery and installation. This felt like a real live adult thing to do.
I took a moment to marvel at this new functioning member of society that I am becoming…
…And then I unpacked my dishes.
I hadn’t seen them in two years. They’re slightly off-kilter, faux handmade. I know they’re not actually handmade, but I refuse to analyze the shapes because I don’t want to ruin the illusion.
I prefer to just enjoy their wonk.
Same with my mugs. There are more of them than I remembered. Several make me disproportionately happy.
Pop Rocks.
Later that afternoon, it was time for that favor to pay out. My friend with the giant SUV came to help me get the last thing out of storage.
A set of custom-made stall bars.
We had to rearrange things in her back seat. Turn the bars upside down. Move the seats forward. Use the moving blankets to protect the upholstery. We made it fit. I knew we would.
Another small, efficiently packed space, now emptied.
I closed out the storage unit —another chapter of my life — and crossed it off my list.
There’s still more to do.
Some of it will happen before I leave. Some of it will wait until I get back. The couch. The bed. More packing. More unpacking. Building the framework of my next chapter. Isn’t that the point of all of this?
For now. Not everything is finished. But at least it’s all contained.
Stay Gritty