The joy of emptying boxes

In celebration of one year of moved-into-our-new-housedness, and because I’m too tired to come up with anything exciting for my numero uno blog post, here’s a rediscovered bit of writing:

There are but a few things in life that fill one with absolute, untainted happiness. My latest joy: unpacking boxes.

I get chills as my scissors, splayed apart to make use of a single blade, slice through the packing tape with a satisfying rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiip. My heart beats with anticipation and then jubilation as I rediscover all of my things–books, linens, the soapstone carving I bought from the Kenyan guy at Disney World–and find a place for them in my new dwelling.

But nothing–NOTHING–equates to the ecstasy of looking into an empty box, flipping it over, scissors in hand, and slicing through the tape on the bottom–rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiip –reducing the box into nothing more than a flat piece of cardboard. I am beaming as a new space opens up in front of me. One less obstacle in the maze of boxes.

I take a deep breath and smile in accomplishment before I look around for the next box to empty. I don’t have to look far.