The unpacking conundrum

It’s been 2 years and 20 days since we've moved to the big bad city. The big has gotten slightly smaller and the bad has gotten slightly better though. However, my one big concern remains. I still haven’t unpacked all my boxes. Why haven’t I unpacked my boxes? Well, apart from the fact that I am essentially the laziest person alive on earth when it comes to household chores, there is also that weird fear of packaged boxes. A somewhat odd feeling tells me that one does not simply open boxes after 6 months (of unopening) has passed. You need adult supervision (or super-hero-vision) at this point of time when you decide to finally unbox. What if you open up to find a gazillion mini spiders mutated (with superpowers of course), crawling through every inch of that box? And just by opening that box you have now subjected the world to the horror that is mutated stingraypowered mini spiders! You might as well dig yourself a giant hole at this point in time, crawl into it and die. Speaking of giant holes, your un-opened box could have also morphed into a compressed environment of multiple levels of bad energy and condensed claustrophobia making it the perfect portal of doom. A giant mega-hole which (on unboxing) will suck everything in its path like a black hole-ish- death-star and won’t stop until it has swallowed the earth. The other possibility is that everything inside that box is now alive. Something was born in it, something evolved in it, something evolved into a scarier something in it, and now 'the force is stronger than ever'. And it is waiting silently, in that dark swamped (probably moist) box, and when the time comes… well you know where this is going. 

So yeah, I pretty much have a couple of very logical reasons for why I haven’t unpacked yet. A standard expiry date of box opening has to be taken into consideration here, and at the same time I keep telling myself, that if I haven’t required any of those things in those boxes that I packed – I pretty much don’t need them ever. Let’s face it, if you don’t feel the need to take something out of a box for two years, you’ll probably never fucking need it ever. So now the question comes. What do I do with these boxes of doom? Burn. Beat. Repeat? Strategically place them across different crowded places in the city and wait for apocalypse or… just call my mom?! At this point I Googled “magic 8 ball, should I call mom?” and the answer was – “Outlook not so good”. Which is pretty bang on! In retrospect, my mom would beat the shit outta me if she found out I was sitting pretty on 6 unopened boxes for the last 2 years. So that’s a clear No. Also, I am pretty sure one of those boxes has some horrid wedding gifts that I pretty much never want to see in my life. Deviating slightly from topic, which I obviously never do, quick head count of how many different types of hideous flower vases you can get on your wedding day? Apparently, quite-a-fucking-lot!

Anyway, so coming back to the unpacking conundrum at hand. The amount of time I have spent in writing this inane post and venting my frustration about unopened boxes lying in my store room could have been better utilized in either opening them or destroying them, neither of which I have done. Thank you very much. But, at least I realize that I may have a problem. And like most pretentious wise people sayings go- admitting you have a problem solves 50% of the problem. So now, I am doing exactly what most people who are about to have a panic attack do. Search Online. This weekend, I have vouched to at least try and get rid of some of these boxes and to do that I need some weapons of course. By weapons I mean Dettol, thick brooms, dusters and a hazmat suit obviously. 

And I leave you with my favourite quote of the day: “My second favourite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint”.