I’m happy to say that the past week did not involve any hospital visits or emergencies. It was a pretty low-key week, all things considered. But I can’t say that this week will be the same. Why? It’s moving week, muckaluckas*.
(*Side bar: what’s a “muckalucka?” It’s network television’s way of saying “motherf*cker,” at least when they air Pineapple Express. And “asshole” becomes “casserole.”
Side bar to side bar: when network television airs The Big Lebowski, “This is what happens when you f*&# a stranger in the a$$!” becomes “This is what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps!” When did the Alps become part of the plot line? Who knows. But I digress…)
Let me make myself crystal clear: I hate moving. The prospect of packing up all my stuff and hauling it from point A to point B makes me want to throw myself on the ground, wailing and flailing my arms about like a petulant child. The logistics, the organization, the leaving my comfort zone, the having to go through all the crap I’ve hoarded over the last however-many-years I’ve been at my place – all of it. I dread it. It’s just a pain in the ass.
Pain in the ass things that have happened this move? The tenant in our apartment-to-be decided not to move on time and didn’t tell anyone, so we had to rearrange everything and push our move-in back two weeks. The new leasing office has poor inter-office communication, so we end up explaining and checking things a bunch of times. I stepped on a shard of glass yesterday while packing. So it goes.
I’ve moved about twelve times in my life if you count all the back-and-forth to and from college (when my whole life fit inside one large box). This does not include all the times I’ve helped friends and family move. Sometimes, the moves were simple and well-coordinated, and sometimes, it took every fiber of my being not to set everything on fire and tell my friend to start anew. You’d think that with that much experience, I’d dread the whole moving thing a lot less. Nope. I’ve learned a lot about how to make moving easier, but “easier” doesn’t mean “I don’t hate it.” I do.
I currently live with my twin sister, and we’re moving into a two-bedroom with her fiance (save money, bros!). She shares my hatred of moving. I think this is why the move (so far) has been slightly less painful than usual – we both hate it, but we talk each other through it and deal with it in small, manageable pieces. We even made a Moving Week Game Plan so that everything seems less daunting. Thank goodness she’s been patient enough to deal with me and to discuss things slowly and methodically. Otherwise, I’d end up in the fetal position rocking back and forth on the floor and whimpering.
This weekend, I got started by throwing a bunch of stuff away and preparing things to donate. Now that I’ve purged the unneeded crap (why did I still have Christmas cards from when I was in college? or the posters/random junk I hung on my dorm room walls? and all of my law school handouts and notes?), I’m actually kind of excited. It’s cathartic to throw away some of your old life (your “baggage,” perhaps) and move forward. There’s something relaxing about simplifying, cutting down, and only taking what you need that makes everything just feel good and new. (In my head, I’m hearing the conversation Lonestar has with Princess Vespa in Spaceballs: “Take only what you need to survive!”)
So this week is all about packing up (slowly), cutting down on the materialism (a little), and eating only what’s left in the apartment instead of grocery shopping (beans and rice, anyone?). I’m excited to move to a new place, start anew and save a lot more money. Even though the process sucks, it’ll all be worth it. Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Unless this whole living-with-your-sister-and-her-fiance-so-everyone-saves-money thing ends up blowing up in our faces, but that’s a post for another day.