Moving sucks

Packing and moving is a pain in the ass. This is my moving week, and everyday I go home to a giant mess which needs to be thrown into boxes and taped up. I've realized that most of what I own are books, and books are especially difficult to pack and transport. Updating addresses, canceling and reestablishing services, that's all a hassle, too. If I make it to Saturday night, all my stuff intact, I'll treat myself to go see Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.
Unpacking is fun, though. Empty spaces supporting an infinite number of possible arrangements. When everything is all boxed up, those first few days in a new house are like living in a ski lodge, or a giant tent.
Mostly, I look forward to compartmentalization of the various pursuits of my life into their own rooms. An office, a writing and video editing space, with just my books and computer equipment. A bedroom with just a bed. An entertainment room that's just about watching movies and listening to music.
Clarity and focus of function, clarity and focus of thought. It was why in college I always went to the library to study, to the basement cubicles to do research. I had to have absolutely no distractions around me, nothing except blank white walls, fluorescent light, the text I was studying, a pen, and blank paper. Perhaps, depending on the subject, I'd allow myself some music, but the soundproofing nature of the private cubicle walls was boon for my concentration.
In fact, I think at times I need to unplug my computer from the cable modem so I can't surf or receive e-mail. It's too easy in this day/age to devolve into purely an information consumer, addicted and passive.