I am so embarrassed. All these columns and books I have written on downsizing and decluttering and my oh my, the mess I am in. Moving is the ultimate truth test. As I pack up the house husband DC and I have lived in for eight years, box towers line the halls, packed and stacked like big-city skylines. Each room coughs up its contents like a kid with consumption. I fear I may never see a clear counter again.

I don't know about you, but when I feel out of control -- and believe me this is one of those times -- I cope by tackling tasks I can control, like vigorously ironing tea towels. But that doesn't get you too far, especially when you have a whole house to pack and move.

Don't let me or anyone else kid you: Moving is a very bad time.

Actual conversation:

DC: "Well, you're cranky."

Me

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