A move is a lot to handle. It’s a lot by ordinary standards but you factor in pulling up roots and relocating your family to a different state 1100 miles away, a work transfer, the planning, the cleaning out of the garage, going through and tossing paperwork, making lists, making calls, trying to be as cost effective as humanly possible, thinking and rethinking timelines, praying the kid’s going to be alright, praying the move is the right thing to do – it’s a lot for one person to manage.
These are the times I wish I had a better half. Maybe someone who’s Type-A mixed in with some OCD. That’d be the way to go right there!
But alas, that’s not the case. Instead, it’s me, Type-… what’s the opposite of Type-A? I haven’t studied it enough to be able to tell you. All I know is if the dishes sit in the sink overnight, I don’t sweat it; and if I pay a late fee for paying my car insurance on the 8th rather than on the 1st, they’ll get over it. It all works out in the end.
This time, however, I need to really get, and keep, my shit together. Flying by the seat of my pants is fine, but more than anything I want this move to go off without a hitch. I need to plan, stay on track, expect challenges but don’t freak out when a challenge arises, and know that I just have to keep pushing forward. When moving day comes, I want everything to be ready – no last minute clutter on the kitchen counter; no throwing last minute shit into a box to sort out later.
We’re down to 45 days now and it’s getting real. I can’t keep up with housework AND preparing to move. I have a kid I can’t get to engage and help out. “You’re not helping. I need your help. Pick a chore and just do it.” At this point any little bit will help. It’s like in The Breakup with Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston. “I want you to want to do dishes.” “Nobody WANTS to do dishes.”
Trust me. I get it.
Because there’s no partner with whom to bounce ideas, Auburn Aries gets to hear it and she is sick of it. She actually asked me the other day if we could NOT talk about San Diego for one day.
Oops. I’ve now taken to keeping it all to myself for the most part. If not, then I might as well discuss finances to the nth degree, too. I'm sure she'd love that about as much as grinding out details for the move.
Right now my focus is cleaning out 10 or 20 years of useless paperwork. Those employee evaluations from 2000; the loan docs from the three houses I’ve bought and sold living up here; that joke someone in the office handed me before emailing them was the way to go. Yes, it’s that bad. Scoff if you will, but you’ve got it too. I’m transforming what I own from complacent pack rat to lean urban living.
The big push right now is because June 15th is free shred day in Portland otherwise I’ll be paying .79 a pound and paper is freaking heavy. So between now and Friday night, I need to get through the closet in the office and around 5 boxes in the garage. I mean how the hell did this much stupid shit accumulate. Did I really need to save the benefits pamphlet from three companies ago? Just kill me now! So. fucking. monotonous.
Once the paperwork part is done, I’ll finish the garage. That won’t take much time. After that it’s boxes and packing up this house. It’s all getting tightly packed, marked, and staged in the front living room. The day the movers get here, with any luck, I’ll just be directing traffic. A girl can dream. Oh and by directing traffic I mean then cleaning afterward, then waiting while the carpet cleaner guy does his thing; then the walk through with the landlord; then after THAT finally crashing in a hotel overnight to head out at morning light.
Yep, it’s all just a walk in the park. So uneventful I should really skip. My chest is sufficiently aching from stress now. I should probably stop. Thank goodness no one reads my blog anymore. I can vent in here and no one gives a shit. My blog is my sounding board. Thanks, old friend.