If you hadn’t noticed, there’s been a distinct lack of content here over the last week. I’m sorry to have let you down, but the moving process is something of a bitch. If you haven’t done it, I suggest you never try. Actually, I suggest you stay in the same place you’re currently in, at the moment, and never–EVER–leave. I left. And because I so stupidly decided to do so, I can let you know what you won’t be missing out on by staying put.
Hygiene. In four or five days of sweaty moving, I think I showered for all of 2 minutes. It was mostly a way to run water over the 3-inch layer of dirt covering my body–no soap, mind you–and trick my mind into thinking I was clean enough to fall asleep in a bed. Aside from falling asleep in a pool of my own sweat most nights, I must’ve gone a solid three days without ever once touching a toothbrush. I couldn’t even tell you where I packed it. Needless to say, I purchased a new one as soon as I settled in and have used it at least 30 times in the last two days.
Food. There’s no time to eat when you’re moving two different people from three different houses. Your time is spent loading, driving, unloading, driving, sleeping, unpacking, unpacking and unpacking some more. I must’ve gone 2 days straight with 0 calories consumed.
Dignity. There is absolutely no way to look cool while driving a moving van. Believe me, I tried. No matter what you wear, how you position your hands on the wheel or the kind of music you blast, you still look like you’re smuggling Mexicans over the border.
Sanity. I spent 5 days sitting in a house of boxes, waiting for Comcast to save me. Because I work during the day, I had to wait until the weekend for the fine gentleman to come and grant me internet access and a television with more than 28 channels. Trust me, there are only so many episodes of the Hills one can watch before being placed on suicide watch.
There are more horror stories, but even thinking about moving again is making my head hurt. Just stay where you are. If you’re at your parent’s house, just pay them rent and ask that they never look into your sock drawer. If you live with an ex-wife, I urge you to stay where you are anyway. You may hate her with a fiery passion, but at least she doesn’t weigh as much as a wall unit. (And if she does, then there’s a reason you married her in the first place and you probably couldn’t do much better anyway.) If you’re a bum, then keep panhandling. Fuck it. If your life never gets any better, then you never have to worry about labeling boxes as fragile and then watching as the bottom falls apart and glass objects are cascading down the stairs of your new apartment building.
If you haven’t been able to tell, I fucking hate moving. But now that it’s over, I’m going to enjoy the bed I put together.
And hope that my bed-building skill set is marginally better than my ability to construct boxes.
2 Comments so far
Leave a comment