Monday, September 24, 2012

I Hate Moving...

... so much!

Really, I do. I hate leaving the old place (packing, re-packing, loading up that crap to a truck); I hate getting to the new place (cleaning, painting, un-loading, un-packing); and I just flat out hate change of any kind - even the good kind, and this is the good kind.

Right now, I am one miserable bitch to be around.

My bedroom looks like a storage unit burped and blew up. I can't get packed because when I do get something into a box, I need it twenty seconds later. I'm having to throw out and give things away because I just refuse to move all this stuff. On top of it all, I'm a little depressed because I notice now that I have clothes in three sizes: 4, 6, 14. (Okay, four sizes, but I'm not telling anymore.)

Best part of all of this? I am only moving 2 miles down the road. I'm not ever going far from my family again.


You all know me by now: I can make a mountain out of a two grains of sand and a drop of procrastination...

The BFF I will be roomies with is all excited. Of course she is - she doesn't have to move all her stuff. She has offered to come over and help, but I am trying to have her save her energy for the painting we are going to do. Oh, and the moving of the bed and other pieces of furniture. heh heh. Besides, we'd end up looking at every piece of clothing and doing fashion critiques worthy of Ms. Wintour (or Mr. Blackwell!).

I do thank God (seriously) that I have The World's Best Family. My sister is motivating me ("You have 22 days. That's plenty of time." "You have 17 days." "You lazy heffa, you! You only have 12 days...") One nephew is going to help us paint, another one is going to do the moving (with the first nephew) and clean the carpets in the new place. My niece in North Carolina has been soothing me ("Just breathe, Auntie. I moved across country with 4 weeks notice. You got this.") The niece I live with is being so patient and sweet as I tear her house and garage and storage apart, looking for all my stuff. I locked her beloved (pain in my ass) dog in the garage the other day while I had the front door propped open so I could trot between storage and house for an hour. I also broke a shelf in her pantry while I was getting my pots and pans down... She's probably counting the hours til I'm out of here, but she gets all teary-eyed and says she's going to miss me! Her husband thought that pantry shit was funny, but he didn't laugh while she could hear him. (And, just for the record: no one here is going to miss me much because my ass will be right over here every day to see my sister and the baby!!!)

Am I dealing with this? Yes, but not very well. I get so overwhelmed  by the least little thing anymore. I  am calming myself with the following facts (here goes one of my lists):

  • I'm about 5 minutes away (3 if the BFF is driving).
  • I will be here to visit every other day or so.
  • My darling little nephew, D.J., will be over to spend some nights with me. (Kidnap style!)
  • My BFF is part of the fam so she is going to be sneaking over here as much as I will.
  • As soon as all this pack/move b.s. is over, I'm going to invite Mr. Malibu Rum over so we can have a really long chat.

It's all good. Change is hard, but it happens. I am just now thinking of a really cute posting I saw on G+: "Life...Some Assembly Required." (I really need a t-shirt with the saying I came up with: "Life - this side UP.")

Whatever. Just think of me and know that this is what I look like when I am staring at this mess of unpacked stuff:

I wish I could snap my fingers or crack my toes and have this shit just all freaking done. Ain't gonna happen, so let me get my lazy ass up from this laptop and get back to packing. Please miss me while I am gone from the blog!