Still Alive. More or Less.

The two-week vanishing act was unintentional. In that time, I finished moving into our new apartment (there are just a few random things scattered on the floor that need to be shifted into permanent places) and cleaning the old one. I also attended two out-of-town graduation parties (both for cousins who will be attending my alma mater next year). And I've been working a few extra hours during the week. So I haven't had much time for writing, and when I have had time, I've been uninspired or afraid that anything I write will come off as relentless complaining. (For example, our new apartment, though it is in many important ways better than the last, comes with an upstairs neighbor who walks laps around her bedroom in heels at 7:30 in the morning, when I'm still trying to get another half hour of sleep, and who has sex noisily and often.)

This week will be busy, too, with an extra shift at work and a groom's dinner and a concert and a wedding. So I'll probably disappear again for a while. But I'll be back. I always come back.

Three Cheers for Poor Planning

Today we finish moving upstairs. It feels preposterous to say that, because this does not look like the apartment of people who will be living somewhere else in 24 hours. But the next four days are spoken for, so this is our only chance. Yesterday while Eric was at work (thanks to my friends Natasha and Gina, who carried the heavy stuff), I managed to move and put in their places 80% of the books and most of Eric's rocks our knick-knacks, plus the electronics (minus computer) and hundreds of movies and CDs--which are all up there, in the media cabinet, alphabetized. I also cleaned the living room, hall, and bedroom, so the windowsills are no longer black, the mats of cat hair on the blades of the ceiling fan and in between the radiator coils are gone, as are the several things on the walls that may or may not have been boogers.

But--and here's the ridiculous part--that leaves cleaning the (filthy, by my admittedly neurotic standards) bathroom and kitchen, plus moving about half the living room furniture and the entire contents of our bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom. And nothing is actually packed. On the bright side, I discovered yesterday that it's surprisingly quick and easy to toss stuff in a box, carry it upstairs, and empty the contents of the box into their proper place. Plus, today I have helpers: Eric is off work, and our friend Jonathan will be our bitch for the day. I think he works for beer.

Still, I'm feeling overwhelmed, like I've been given an hour to eat an entire cow. With a plastic spork and no knife. And since my morning cup of tea is empty now, I think it's time to start digging away at it. Wish me luck and sanity.

One Week Later

I haven't been writing because I haven't been inspired.

Since we moved, I've been working at home when I'm not working at work. Yesterday we finally got the last of the boxes (save one, full of coats to donate or consign when the weather cools) out of the apartment and into storage or Goodwill or the recycling bin. We also started hanging things on the walls, which is a bit of a trick since most of our walls are poured concrete. Today, after putting the finishing touches on my class plan for this evening, I'm going to clean the disgusting oven, which the previous tenant didn't bother to do, and which I've been putting off "until tomorrow" for almost two weeks.

The last couple of weeks have been stressful, especially in my current yoga-less universe (I still haven't had a chance to order replacements for my dead tapes), but today I can hear angels singing in the distance and I think I see a pin-prick of light ahead. This apartment is gorgeous, even if it is halfway underground and one of the smaller apartments known to man. And in the next few days, when we finish the cleaning and find homes for the lingering clutter, I'm going to be really proud of all the work we've done.

Moving Out Tomorrow

I wish I could skip class tonight. It's going to cut four hours out of a day that's already too short.

Feeling Much Lighter Now, Maybe Too Light

I was feeling pretty good today, after collecting 40 bucks for a bunch of old books and ditching a Jeep-load of stuff at the local Goodwill. But apparently today is one of those days when realizing that I've accidentally given the good Cub Foods box with the handles (the one that would be great for tossing in odds and ends on the day of the move) to Goodwill along with the books the used bookstore wouldn't buy, can send me into a spiral of desperate guilt. And that's weird. Don't you think it's weird that even just for a moment, I entertained the idea of driving the fifteen minutes back to Goodwill to see if I could get my box back? Can you picture that? "Oh, you're welcome to one-sixteenth of my belongings, I don't miss those, but you weren't supposed to get the Cub Foods box." So what I'm wondering is whether this special neurosis has been brought on by the stress of moving, or if I'm actually just that crazy.

Moving Rant #1

Reserving a moving truck should be easy. You should make one phone call to the company, tell them what size truck you need and the length of time you need it, and in an urban area with dozens of branches of their company, they should be able to meet those needs.

You should not have to make an abstract "reservation" for which they cannot guarantee that you will be able to pick up the truck within a certain radius of your home, and for which they cannot specify the length of time you will be allowed to keep the truck. Then, they certainly should not text-message you, when you specified that you prefer a phone call, with a more concrete reservation at a near enough location, but that requires you to return the truck at 7 A.M. on the day you have to move into your new apartment.

But they did. So you try again.

This time, you arrange a workable reservation, for a truck larger than you need, a little more expensive than the first, and farther away, but for 24 hours, which is the really important part. But you should not, then, feel the need to call the location where you will pick up the truck to confirm your reservation, and having done so, be told, "I don't have that available that day." So obviously you have to, although you shouldn't, call the original people who made the reservation--the central reservationists if you will--and ask them what gives. Then you shouldn't have to wait on hold while the central reservationists call the pick-up location and ask them, in turn, what gives. And then you shouldn't have to be told, in a way that should inspire confidence but at this point doesn't, that they "don't know what his issue is over there, but we'll work it out. You have the truck, and if that changes we'll call you."

There are just so many more important, theoretically more challenging things in life than moving trucks. So why, three hours later, do I have a headache and no energy left for anything else?