In case you didn’t know, this migration crap is stressful. It can be organized into three distinct categories of stressful events. First, you have the pre-move organization. This includes planning, scheduling jettisoning of ballast, packing and arranging for renters or sale of the current abode. And cleaning. This stage can (but note it doesn’t always) include the search and seizure (if you will) of appropriate accommodations on the other end. Second, you have the actual relocation part, where all your crap is packed into a container and either you, someone you know, or a company you paid will be driving said container of crap from point A to point B. A lot can happen here, including broken axles, flat tires, fuel prices hitting record highs, floods, tornadoes, criminals, massive national-news style highway-crippling accidents, and large quantities of gooey/baked-on insect corpses on various windshields. So, get the insurance is what I’m saying here. Then, finally you have stage three, and that involves the arrival at the new nest, as it were. It involves having a place to move in to (finding one if that step hasn’t been done yet) knowing when move-in is allowed, doing the walk-through to record any existing deposit-killing damage, arranging for the delivery of the container of crap, unloading said crap, recording any damage to said crap, paying movers, paying installments, paying fees, setting up utilities, finding switches and plugins, saying goodbye’s to anyone who helped move who will hereafter be returning to your old stomping grounds, and ultimately beginning the long NEW process of settling in for real and becoming a grown-up new kid on the block.
I’m still in the first step. Each step along the way involves large quantities of panic, distress, exuberance, brilliant ideas, and really shitty days. There shall be pepto, ibuprofen, band-aids, packing tape, cat fur and crates and crates of Kleenex.
Beloved shall journey out by his onesie to find a place for us to live in. I have to work. I trust his judgement since he’s fussier than I am on most things. The day he comes back, his dad and his dad’s new wife (doesn’t seem right to call such a great woman his “stepmother”) will arrive and visit us and help us pack. There shall be a packing day. That same day, his friend from our new location (who he grew up with ) will be coming to see us too, to buy his car which she’ll then drive back to her home. She’s been needing a vehicle, we have two and were going to have to sell one anyway, so that works out well.
I anticipate, this will be the beginning of “live out of a suitcase” time. I’ll save out just enough of my wardrobe to wear to work and then on the road, and then pack the rest. We’ll do the same for our dishes: kill what we can, save out what we NEED, pack the rest.
Beyond that, it’s just a matter of furniture, art, books… and oh yeah, everything that’s not getting moved and is getting stored at my parent’s place.
I solemnly swear, that for the next ten minutes, I have a solid grip on the situation and do not in any way shape or form feel wholly overwhelmed and terrorized by the tiniest details. No sir-ee.
Renters are lined up. Documents are forthcoming. Legal assistance is on the hook to make sure we’re all doing things fairly. By this time next month… I will be using my computer from my new apartment in my whole new world.
And it will have gone very well, in spite of the frustrations and tears and disasters about which I yet know nothing.
This is my brave face. Let me show you it.
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