Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t on a two lane road in the desert. Nope. Nor in the crazy high twisty roads of Yosemite with altitude sickness. It was the move. Maybe it is because I lived in that apartment 6 years. Maybe because I had a good salary and could afford to purchase furniture worth keeping. Maybe it was because I accumulate stuff. I don’t know. But this move was the hardest of my life. And I’ve moved about 10 times in my life.
But this one was the roughest. The weather was monsoon like. The movers underestimated the time required by oh 6-7 hours. Yeah, not sure how that fuck out happened. But it did. And nothing went smoothly. NOTHING. It must be nice to screw everything up and still get paid. I thought that was only with weathermen. But nope.
Packing up your life takes about 117 boxes. Or my life did anyway. Leaving that apartment was hard. Weird because I had the worst neighbors who played loud music every weekend–and by loud I mean like standing in the middle of the biggest club you can think of. Bass blaring. Until 2 am.
I also had so little space. 650 sq ft. Sounded so good when I moved in. But I outgrew it.
Anyway, these thoughts ran through my head. I was exhausted by the move. Bone tired. Emotionally spent. And of course, the night before I couldn’t sleep. Not a wink until 4 am. And I had to be up at 7AM. Hell. Pure hell.
Everything changed this summer. And it caught up with me when I saw the empty apartment. I felt completely lost. Like I no longer belonged anywhere. Like everything was gone. For weeks I had been saying goodbye to the city and I wanted a nice clean break. No more dawdling. No more dwelling on the past.
Then I got to my new home and I started setting things up this weekend. My desk is here, my books are partly unpacked. My bed is made. The DVD is hooked up for Dallas. I’m starting to feel grounded again. Thank goodness for my parents, who once again saw me through a move. Especially my mom, who took an entire week off work to help pack and oversee the move out and in with me. 🙂