I hate it.

Next time, I’m just going to hire movers to do it all for me. Honestly, it would be worth it. I think it took me three or four days to regain sleep and stop hurting. Not to mention an eighty year old couch fell on me as I tried to heave it up stairs, giving me a goose egg bruise and a cut in the shape of a seven on my shin. I felt a bit like Dumbledore with his scar in the shape of the London Underground on his knee. Only mine hurts whenever fabric brushes across it.

But that’s not the worst part about moving. Actually moving shit around seems like the worst part, but it really is the easiest. It’s anticipated and expected. You know it’s going to suck before you put that first object into that first box. What really suck are the little things. Such as, where I’m I going to hang all of my pictures?

I own several large pieces of art. None of them are truly expensive with the exception of Pat, but several of them are very big and even heavy. Suddenly, after the boxes are unpacked and tucked away, I have art leaning against the wall. I don’t know how to group them or which wall to hang them on. It’s stressful because I want it to look good. Also, I know it won’t feel like home until all of it is properly hung.

Then there’s the internet. I just waited from 1-3pm for the AT&T guy to show up exactly at 3 pm. Then we struggled to find the right hook up spot thing, and by “we” I mean I just got in his way. Also, he accidentally touched my bra. (Not while it was on me.) Yikes. (We’re getting married in June.) Also, I’d given up on him prior to his arrival so when he did show up I was eating ice cream and watching Noises Off because what else am I going to be doing today? Shame boat.

Then it gets worse. Where do I put things in the kitchen? I’m going to need my coffee to be in a very specific spot, but I don’t know where that is yet. I want to know now. I don’t want to wait five days of moving the coffee every which way until I find the spot where it will stick. On which side of the closet do I want to put the clothes I actually wear? I mean really. Could it get any worse? UGH. Where’s the closest Starbucks to me? (But they know me at the old one!) Do I still want to go to the same church, or should I find something closer? (Dear Lord, it took me so long to find one that I really liked attending.) Where’s the Taco Bell? Where will I buy books? OOOH! There’s a library within walking distance. That’s brilliant.

In a month, I will have deeply rooted routines that will feel like I had all of my life. And I need routines and consistency. I’m like an infant in that way. When routines are broken, well, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.


I just.. I also hate having to figure out new routines. I hate having to find a new way to work, and which parking spot I like most, and where exactly I’m going to put my purse every time I go home.

At least, by the time that I finish this, I’ll have internet, not that I get to enjoy it. I’ll be rushing to post this and then go back to the old apartment so that I can clean it and get it ready to be checked. I gave myself a few days to clean, but now I don’t want to. I want to finish which the second season of S.H.I.E.L.D. and then watch Not Another Happy Ending. But, alas, adulthood beckons.

I am rather lucky. I have a good roommate. The apartment is really nice and not falling apart like the old one. Yet again, God has watched over me, allowing me to heal, be lucky, be safe, and move without any real sort of flaw. God has only blessed me with first world problems, for which I am grateful because if this is how I react to not having internet for a week, then honestly, I wouldn’t handle any real form of devastation. He even blessed me with a sister who married a guy who has a father who graciously allowed me to use his truck to move my queen size bed so I didn’t have to rent a U-Haul truck. Tom wouldn’t even let me pay him. I’ve honestly never seen a grown man run away from me like that while I opened my wallet. I’ve been very blessed indeed. Now all I need is to talk the Army into letting my best friend live in Michigan. Then, I’d be set.


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