I am at the worst bit of packing right now. The time when all of the easy to pack, easy to catagorize things are done, (books) and we are left with the difficult (cast iron pans) and the odd (knick-knacks). Plus I've entirely run out of patience for this, not to mention energy. I hate moving. Hate hate hate. Before I came to LA, I lived in the same place for six years. And I hate packing most of all. It ties in to my other big hatred, putting things away. If you want laundry washed, dried, and folded I'm your woman. If you want that laundry to live in drawers instead (neatly folded) in the laundry basket, that would be a job for someone else. Left to my own devices, I keep my home clean in the sense that it's sanatary, but it's always cluttered. So the fact that I hate packing should not be surprising.
That said, it's worth it. I hate our old neighborhood. I don't feel safe here. It keeps getting worse, and the police have only recently gotten interested, and then only barely.