Where's my....?

Frustration built these first days on the road because I couldn't find anything. To understand the situation, consider my method of packing. It was actually part of my method of vacating the apartment, which involved triage of my supplies and possessions into boxes for (a) the Dumpster, (b) the local thrift shop, (c) giving away, (d) storage, or (e) taking along in the RV. So the stuff for the RV got thrown into boxes without any organization whatever, and looking for something I needed meant searching through all the boxes in the RV until I found it, assuming I could find it among all the other stuff. But, I assured myself, things will eventually get sorted out. It's wholistic. It's all an organic part of the Adventure. It thumbs its nose at the tight-sphincter rules at the apartment complex Ive escaped from.

Here's an example. The first day out, I couldn't find a belt. Now, a belt in an important item — without it, my pants wouldn't stay up. I tried grabbing the waist at the side and hoisting it, but that proved uncomfortable, not to mention it must have looked weird. Then I found a better approach, in which I placed the back of one hand in the small of my back, as if I were trying to look suave. That worked better, but even that was too much, so I took a length of nylon camping cord and used that as a makeshift belt... worked fine! A few days later I found a belt and the crisis was over, but it wasn't until two weeks into the trip that I discovered the other belts I'd brought.