That’s why I don’t do it very often, if at all possible. I’ve been very lucky in California. In fifteen years, I’ve lived in four different domiciles. That’s a pretty amazing record. The last one, I’ve only lived in for two days.
When I lived in Boston before that, I lived in three different apartments and I only lived in that city for four years. And then there’s Detroit. Aside from the year I was homeless, I lived in a bajillion different places. Not including the house I grew up in, where I lived the longest, I averaged about two apartments a year in Detroit. I’m not sure why I moved so much there, but I did. I lived in two different apartments in the same building with another move in-between.
I hate moving.
I didn’t have a choice this time though. My roommate, who owns the house I’ve called home for the last four and half years, is moving in with his fiancé in a few months and he’s renting out the house we live in. Male’s place opened up with him moving out of state, so it seemed like a good deal to just move in there. Moving seems so much easier in your head.
I really don’t have that much stuff. At least, not in comparison to my roommate. He’s got a full house worth of crap and all of it will need to be moved, but he’s got three months to do it. My sister and I moved the rest of my stuff in a 10′ U-haul truck on Saturday. It took us, just the two of us, an hour and a half. We are excellent at moving. My sister and I can both pack a moving truck like a perfect score Tetris game.
Honestly, the truck was bigger than we even needed, but a pickup truck, van and 10′ truck were all the same price to rent, so why not get the big one? We packed that truck solid. When we opened the back, everything looked exactly as it did when we closed it. That’s good packing.
Yesterday, after moving the rest of the furniture upstairs, painting the rest of the furniture that needed to be painted (the coffee table is finished! But I forgot to take pictures), I went back over to the old house with my dog to clean it up.
This may be a little TMI so feel free to skip to the next paragraph if the thought of dog poop is gross to you… My dog has not pooped at the new house at all. When we went back to “her yard,” she let loose with two giant poops and then one more when we went to the dog park. The people at the dog park said it will take time for her to adjust to not having her own yard anymore. She’s never not had her own yard. She’s really got to learn to poop at the new place.
Anyway, that room, my old one, is absolutely tiny. Somehow, it seems even smaller devoid of furniture. I’m not sure how that’s possible really, but it is. How did I live in there for four and a half years?
It’s sad going someplace you used to live, knowing that you don’t live there anymore. It had to be even weirder for my roommate this morning with no dog, cat or roommate underfoot; and for my dog, not having her yard to run around in and hufflepuff. Hufflepuffing is what I call the ridiculous grunty/growly noises she makes at the fence line. She still refused to poop this morning.
My new place is ENORMOUS. There’s room in it for a living room, office and bedroom. In two days, I’ve almost got it in order. Well, the living areas anyway. I need to tame the kitchen and the walk-in closet, which really isn’t “walk-in” at the moment. This morning, I had to change my shirt, because I couldn’t find my blue Converse.
I found the gray ones, the black ones, the pink and black ones, and even the purple ones, but I couldn’t find the blue ones. I had to wear the gray ones instead. Boo hoo.
Hi, my name is Goldfish and I have a Converse problem. Whenever I see a color I don’t have on sale, I buy them. The problem is, All Stars come in a lot of colors.
I couldn’t find where I put the cat food this morning. Every muscle is sore today, even muscles I didn’t know I had. My bank account is running on empty. I worked long after I should have gone to sleep last night, because I wasn’t paying attention to the clock, and there is still crap everywhere. I drove four extra miles to work this morning. I live in Male’s old room now, but with new paint, clean carpets, my stuff and a different furniture arrangement, it doesn’t feel much like his room at all. It is now my room. It’s an adjustment for all of us.
If I remember, I’ll take pictures of the table I promised to take pictures of, because it is now done, in my room and piled high with boxes. It’s a good thing it’s solid wood.