Actually, I’m like 87% moved.
You have no idea how much SHIT you own until you have to haul it down a flight of curved narrow stairs, pack it into your tiny Dodge Shadow, cart it across the city and then haul it up yet ANOTHER flight of stairs. By-Your-Self.
That was my Sunday, my entire Sunday.
I’ve moved 3 times in the past year and a half alone. Most people who relocate this much cut down on their possessions. I think I’m a hoarder because I apparently accrue shit from each place and then drag it on to the next dwelling. I’m a figurative snowball of tangible memories. I keep rolling through life and picking up more and more shit.
*note to self*
This is a fantastic metaphor for why many parts of my life are a mess.
I’m going to have a yard sale.
Details will be forthcoming.
The apartment is nice but really empty. We (my Bro of a roommate and I) have no furniture, just beds. We also have no hot water…*another note to self: call Gas Co.*
I did manage to move my cats in successfully.
Although, while I was on 95 transporting my ladies to the new place, I look in my rearview mirror to find that my manx cat, Morticia, has escaped her carrier and is trying to make run for sweet freedom.
I must have looked like a lunatic.
I had one hand on the wheel and one reaching in the backseat of the car trying to snatch her.
Eventually I got ahold on her, plopped her in my lap and reached legit cat lady status by driving around with my feline in the driver’s seat with me.
It’s never a dull moment.