My home is sterile


There is a lot of things I despise about moving but there is also a few I love. Like declutterig deluxe, you know when you are standing there, the person who helps you move next to you, hectically asking, „Are you keeping this?“ And then suddently, the sentimentality is toned down in the face of „Will I pack, carry and unpack this without resenting myself for my decision?“ I can ten more easilly part from old flower pots, extra sciccors and bottles that I had thought to become romantic candle holders.

Today, the moving men dissembled my kitchen for transport and I was shocked to see how much dirt there is in the places you hardly can reach for cleaning. Winnie, the leader of the movers who told me about all the celebrities he helped move („My last move to Düsseldorf was the neighbor of Verona Pooth!“), waved aside my disgust with the top of my dish washer. My home was more or less sterile, he said, compared to what he usually sees. The movers also thought I had a very well-decluttered home, „owning almost nothing“, and when I opened to basement for them to take my belongings stored there out, the smallest of the pack, looked at me unbelievingly. „That’s all? I rarely see a basement with so few things.“

Maybe their utterings were just psychological tricks, what they know they need to tell people who look at the full moving truck and cannot believe how much baggage they are carrying around with themselves in life. But I prefer to take them as compliments for my domestic success.

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