Friday, I tackled putting together the 250 pound desk I'm now writing from. Since it is upright and supporting the things I have on it, I guess I did OK putting it together. I came away with several new bruises, a smashed toe and a gash on my leg, but I still consider it a victory.
The desk started like this:
And 12 hours later, I had this:
And I have to say I absolutely love it. It's going to take me a while to organize all my "stuff" in and on it, but I've already discovered it's the perfect place to blog from.
I feel a bit like Carrie Bradshaw, writing while I look out my window. Except I'm not writing about sex. And there is no hot guy who might throw stones at my window to get my attention . . . but there is that potential . . .
In other news, I think the cats have finally accepted that this is home as they have stopped pooping just outside their litter box. Silly, jerkface cats . . .
I keep thinking of things I want to blog about, but I keep getting distracted with unpacking.
I've been working on one room at a time, and slowly, slowly the piles of boxes are diminishing. I love having "real" bedroom furniture, except that I think I need a step-stool to easily get into my bed. I'm waiting to hang anything on the walls until I get some of the stuff I have in a storage unit. However, I have managed to successfully become addicted to vinyl wall clings. This is my favorite so far . . .
Unpacking the 1940's transfer-ware I collect (E&R American Artware) I discovered the first casualty of the move. Good thing I have another just like it!
I just finished up an 8 day work stretch at Starbucks, and since I have tomorrow off, I'm going to attempt to put together my new desk. It is huge and has about 1000 parts, but I'm going to consider it a giant, 3-D puzzle. I really hope I don't screw it up!
I can't believe the move is done. It is surreal being here, in this beautiful apartment, surrounded by boxes, boxes and more boxes.
By the time Monday evening rolled around, I was ready. Everything was packed and there were piles of boxes everywhere.
We have had such a late spring/summer, I wasn't sure I'd get to see any of the lilies bloom before I left. But these opened just in time for me to enjoy them.
I had hired movers, and they showed up just after 8am. It didn't take long for my home of 16 years to look like this:
It was so odd to see it so empty. With a bit of sadness and a lot of relief, I said goodbye to this home. Then, it was off to the new place!
Pause for an advertisement: If you are in the EC area, I cannot recommend "No Whoops Moving" strongly enough! Rod, Paul and Michael were AWESOME. They had everything moved and in my apartment by noon!
Then, I was on my own. It was a relief and just a little intimidating to be faced with this:
On Wednesday, I picked Tonks & Luna up from the vet, where they had stayed for 2 days during the move. THEY WERE SO PISSED AT ME!!! Poor kitties. When we got home, they prowled the apartment, yowling, for nearly 2 hours. They were so confused! They finally calmed down and slowly decided they might like this place.
I'm very slowly unpacking, working my way through the dozens of boxes and trying to fit the contents of my old home into my new home that's 400 sq feet smaller. Ufdah. Even though that's overwhelming, it is really nice to be home.
One sleep. That's all I have left in this home. After a week of bittersweet memories, mile-high anxiety and finishing up packing, I've had lots of time to analyze my emotions. And I've come to the realization that in order to enjoy the relationship I'll have with my new home, I'm going to have to break up with the old one.
It's like when you are dating someone, and you have a really good time for a while, but then things change and you realize you should end it. But you don't. Because you are more afraid of the unknown than of being unhappy. That is what my relationship with this home has been for the past few years.
So . . . to my home: Thank you. You have sheltered me, provided warmth and comfort, and given me a safe space to live and grow. However, you've been a pain in the ass in the last year, so we are done. I'm taking my stuff and moving to greener pastures. I'm terrified of the unknown, but I know it will be healthier for me than staying with you would be. I wish you the best in your future relationship, just stop being such an asshole and maybe she'll stay.
This chapter is concluded . . . but I have lots of pen and ink for the next one.
Interrupting this blog silence to inform my 2 followers that posting will continue with regularity after July 1st.
This move is killing me. Emotionally and physically.
6 days . . .
When I arrived at Sbux for my 5am shift, I was ready to have a great! day! I was ready to be confident! And efficient! And friendly-without-being-creepy!
Too bad I wasn't scheduled to work today. Oops. My bad. I thought tomorrow was my day off . . . turns out, it was today. Well, I made myself a skinny-caramel-latte-extra-hot-with-3-sweet-n-lows (which was delicious, if I do say so myself) and headed home. But not before I hit a cement girder while backing out of my parking space. Seriously. I can't even blame bad luck for this. It was sheer stupidity on my part.
By the time I got home, it was getting light out, and when I inspected the damage (to the front left bumper & quarter-panel) it was definitely noticeable. Some scraped paint, the metal bent just a bit - DANG IT. Bad enough I knew I'd need to get it fixed, but not bad enough to make me panic. I figured it wouldn't be more than $500, so I'd pay out of pocket rather than submit another insurance claim. I spent the next 2 hours googling auto-body repair places, and at 8am set off to get an estimate.
It was more than $500. I must have been living in Delusionville, because the estimate was $1500. Now I was officially in panic mode. I raced across town (not really - I drove like an old lady lest I do something dumb like, oh - total another car) to my insurance agent's office. He immediately put things in perspective by reminding me that at least I hadn't run over a person. Or a donkey. (Not kidding, that was a part of the conversation.
I was very close to having a psychotic event, so I stopped at the grocery so I could pick up medicine - AKA Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies. I may or may not have eaten most of them in 1 sitting. Don't judge. It was MEDICINE.
. . . Deep Breaths . . .
I'm kind of proud of myself. Not for injuring another car, but for keeping it together when I could have so easily fallen apart. I guess those months of therapy paid off.
OK, so, the woman buying my house is named S. She is probably mid-60's, a bit frail, but very nice. Her friend and caretaker, also named S. (Let's call her S2) lives down the road from me. Last week, S2 stopped by the house to tell me something - I honestly don't even remember what it was - and when I didn't answer the door right away, she called my name through the window. It just so happened I was taking a nap after work, but, whatever. It was odd.
Today, I was in the back putting in laundry when I think I hear someone calling my name. I move to the front of the house and there stands S2, in my kitchen. What. The. Fuck??? Who does that? Who walks into someone's house that they've only met 2 times??? As I'm hustling S2 back out the front door (because, WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?) she's telling me S's daughter brought some stuff by to put in the shed (I had told S that was fine to do) and wondered if they could take a peek at the house. Uhm. No. No you may not. Because 1. It's still my house and I get to decide who comes in. 2. If I had some advanced notice I would have cleared some packing boxes, put away my unmentionables that are drying in the shower and put away the dishes that are in the drying rack. and 3. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY KITCHEN???
Yes. I was a bitch. I should have been kind and gracious but I was honestly freaked out that this woman just walked into my house. If I had been napping, would she have explored the house until she found me in bed? Would she have raided my cupboards and made a cup of tea while waiting for me to wake up? It's just so preposterous.
I guess the lesson is that I'm going to have to keep my front door locked and bolted for the next 28 days to avoid S2 just making herself at home.
