Moving

I thought it was a truism in life that the more you did something, the less unpleasant it became. Working out, walking in the cold, eating brussel sprouts... you get acclimated to it over time and it gets, if not better, then at least not as bad.

I have found that this is not the case with moving.

Those were the days...

I've moved from crappy places to good places and vice versa. I've moved form home to dorms to frats to apartments to houses to duplexes to back home again to back out again and NONE of them have been pleasant. The only time moving was half bearable was when, in college, I distilled all of my possessions down to the point that they could be transported in a Ford Festiva with a futon mattress strapped on top. Even then, it still sucked, but it was only one trip.

The last time we were happy in this process.

For some reason, it's ALWAYS the same dilemma. You get stuff boxed up, you get the big stuff moved, and  you start thinking "Huh. This isn't so bad. Maybe I have it down finally." And we did really good with planning this! My stepmother came down to help us, we hired movers for a few hours, we started collecting boxes about a month before the move... H and I were high fiving each other about how we had this down!

Then you start boxing up the small crap. And boxing up the small crap. AND BOXING UP THE SMALL CRAP. A nearly empty kitchen has now somehow created three carloads of boxes! You can't clean the place until the boxes are all boxed. You can't brush your teeth or shave at the new place because your stuff is in a box and you can't waste energy unboxing stuff when you have stuff to box and clean at the new place. So you drift in this hellish limbo place for a while, cursing your decision to move, slowly becoming more convinced that the boxes are watching you... conspiring against you... cardboard is the enemy...

Er... anyhow... Cleo hasn't been taking it well either. Let's face it, almost her whole life has consisted of two rooms and a bathroom. Everything she finds comforting and soothing has almost always been within line of sight. Now? Spread out over a few rooms and two floors, almost all of it boxes... boxes as far as the eye can see. Oh.... and you must watch them!

Naturally, she has not enjoyed this experience.

While I am sympathetic, it HASN'T been helpful. Standing in a room that you are so sick of cleaning that the only reason you don't simply vomit all over it is that it would be counterproductive to your goal, the last thing you need is a screaming baby who is inconsolable and gives no indication of why she is so agitated.

Life as we know it.

But... that's what she does cause that's what babies do. All you can do is calm and comfort her and binge on takeout food later because even though you kinda have a hunch about which boxes the cooking utensils are in... you're just going to pretend you don't have a clue so you can get a burger and shake and not have to rationalize it.




Cardboard is the enemy!