Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Oh, So THIS Is What Anxious REALLYFeels Like
I move in 22 days. Not down the hall. Not across the street. Not in with a new boyfriend (it will be a LONG time before you read about me doing that). But across numerous state lines, by myself and just my stuff into my very own pre-war one-bedroom (thankfully) rent controlled apartment in NYC.....(insert various signs of freaking out here.)
When I started talking about doing it and researching the possibilities it seemed like a pipe dream. When I put money down on the apartment, it still felt like I had the whole summer to worry about it. You know what freaked me out? Trying to find a damn moving company.
I haven't moved in three years (a record for someone who jumped from residence to residence an average of 1.3 times a year since starting college.) Three years equals a ton of CRAP collected over the years. And now I have to figure out where that crap is, what exactly the crap is vs. the stuff I actually need or want to keep, seperate my crap from my ex's crap. Thow the crap out or pack it up in boxes, then have strangers drive it away and hopefully unload it unmarked in my new place.
This is such a foreign concept to me I can't begin to explain it. I've always moved myself. Rented a Uhaul or whatever, threw stuff in the back and then cursed to the high heavens that I hated moving and hated carrying furniture. There is something about the never-ending trips outside/inside/upstairs/downstairs that always makes me feel like I'm stuck in a loop.
And I don't even want to start thinking about doing three years of deep cleaning on this place to salvage some small percent of my security deposit. There are patches of floor and spans of floor boards that haven't seen the light of day since September 2003.
Past August 17 life looks good. There isn't anything about what happens after that last box is unloaded on the floor of my new place that scares me. Its getting myself to that point that freaks me out. It's the final hurdle to get over before the next phase in my life starts. Guess its time to stop typing and start climbing...anyone have any packing tape?
When I started talking about doing it and researching the possibilities it seemed like a pipe dream. When I put money down on the apartment, it still felt like I had the whole summer to worry about it. You know what freaked me out? Trying to find a damn moving company.
I haven't moved in three years (a record for someone who jumped from residence to residence an average of 1.3 times a year since starting college.) Three years equals a ton of CRAP collected over the years. And now I have to figure out where that crap is, what exactly the crap is vs. the stuff I actually need or want to keep, seperate my crap from my ex's crap. Thow the crap out or pack it up in boxes, then have strangers drive it away and hopefully unload it unmarked in my new place.
This is such a foreign concept to me I can't begin to explain it. I've always moved myself. Rented a Uhaul or whatever, threw stuff in the back and then cursed to the high heavens that I hated moving and hated carrying furniture. There is something about the never-ending trips outside/inside/upstairs/downstairs that always makes me feel like I'm stuck in a loop.
And I don't even want to start thinking about doing three years of deep cleaning on this place to salvage some small percent of my security deposit. There are patches of floor and spans of floor boards that haven't seen the light of day since September 2003.
Past August 17 life looks good. There isn't anything about what happens after that last box is unloaded on the floor of my new place that scares me. Its getting myself to that point that freaks me out. It's the final hurdle to get over before the next phase in my life starts. Guess its time to stop typing and start climbing...anyone have any packing tape?
// posted by ProudJock Matt @ 7:07 PM 
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