moving

I've never been one to excel at math or math related things. In fact, I usually scrapped a passing mark all throughout high school, most likely because the teachers couldn't stand the thought of my on-going stupidity in the next year's class. However, it doesn't take a geometry -or physics-wizz to understand that the volume of stuff contained in my flat just isn't going to fit into my suitcases. I packed up an entire printer-sized-box full of books to ship back to Canada and naively thought that that would solve my problems. I conveniently avoided addressing the fact that despite that shipment, I still have other books that I've deemed "useful" for either my dissertation or some other, yet to be defined purpose, along with the few novels I've recently purchased as a reward for reading nothing about academic works since October, DVDs, Czech workbook, textbooks and dictionaries, the printer that provided the aforementioned box, boots, Wellies, sandals, shoes for all descriptions, odd-shaped drying racks, an iron, two sets of towels and bed linen, a comforter (maybe two?), pillows, garden gnomes, a plant, a set of pots, plates, tea cups, cutlery and mountains of clothes, jackets, scarfs, bags and enough socks, bras and underpants to see me in*. I don't know where it all came from. Superficially, yes, I know it all came from shops were I myself purchased the thermal socks I needed for Prague at Christmas or dress I needed for the Canada-UK Business Chamber lunch. When it's all spread out, it seems manageable and reasonable. But now that I'm trying to fit it all into two suitcases and a large, blue IKEA bag, I can't help but wonder if my stuff has been secretly multiplying when I turn out the lights at night. 






*This is after I purged four shopping bags stuffed full of unworn clothes and ill-conceived Christmas gifts sent over by my family to do nothing but collect dust.