Four days until we pick up the keys to the new place. Six days to the truck (Speaking of which, hold that thought while I call u-haul to reserve one…right). Our apartment has become a series of piles, boxes waist deep against every wall. The cabinets are emptying, and it seems like there’s this endless parade of Stuff.
Ever find yourself with an almost uncontrollable urge to just torch everything? Yeah, that’s sort of where I am right now.
The cat is beyond distressed. We’ve started making up new lyrics to old songs to help calm and soothe her. My stress-induced compulsion to list everything is getting out of control; even my lists have lists. Poor Ben is working nearly full-time in the middle of all this. Last week, I was too, at a new job that turned into something I couldn’t handle, too. After three days of work, I quit. Something has to give, right?
I’m exhausted, Ben’s exhausted, Lilit has pretty much given up on life. We’re coming in to the home stretch now, which is a great feeling, but it feels like it will never end. It seems so hard to imagine it was less than a month ago we first looked at the house! Just a little longer… just a few more boxes…
So I just blacked out for three weeks. Where was I?
Plague the 4th– Rhinoviruses.
This has been a localized, Megan-sized plague for the most part. Poor lady! Just when we turned our keys in at the old place, they swooped in. Little beasts have been munching on her brains* for weeks now. Do you know any good, quick, congestion-clearing tricks? She’s tried everything short of Liquid Plumr.
Plague the 5th– Chairs.
You wouldn’t think chairs were a problem, but you’re you, and we’re us, and sometimes our problems don’t make sense.
Looking around the room now, I see no fewer than eight chairs (inc. two stools) and a couch. There’s another stool in the bedroom, two chairs in the storage closet, four folding chairs stacked in the sideboard, three gaming chairs in the coat closet, and four patio chairs on our deck. Oh, and there are three chairs in our cars now to go out to family storage, on top of two more folding chairs that already went away– but forget those. Let’s just talk what’s physically in the apartment.
Per Heiney’s Law, the furnishings in a one-bedroom apartment should not exceed S = 3.5 B, where S is the number of individual ‘seats’ in a domicile, and B is the number of butts possessed by leaseholders or permanent occupants. As Megan and I each possess only one butt, S = 7 should be our target; enough seats so that we can have a few people over (5) in a comfortable fashion. A larger party than that, and people will be standing or shifting position frequently, and excess furniture will only get in the way.
Include all the chairs stored in the apartment and count the couch (conservatively) as only two seats, and what do we find?
S = 24
Twenty-four. Megan and I would need 6.86 butts apiece to justify this many chairs. (Assuming that we, as multi-butted or ‘poly-gluted’ people, would still have single-butted friends.)
Don’t let this happen to you.
All said, we made it through the move alive and sane. Takes more than a few plagues to keep a good couple down. Thanks to everyone who helped or supported the move directly; and to the rest of you, thanks for your thoughts.
*That’s how colds work, right?
So I’ll leave it to Ben to finish up his list of plagues (oh yes, he’s not done. This has been a momentous move), but I thought a minor update was in order. We’re starting to sort things out here, and it’s been fantastic that we both had the time away from work to get this move finished. We are officially finished with the old apartment and only have one place that all our things are stored (other than parents’ houses still, but those are on the list for later this year). This move has been educational, to say the least. (See: list of plagues.)
We invented a word! (Or, at least, I think we invented it.) Intoxistupification: the point where you’re just so mentally exhausted that you feel slightly drunk and no amount of sleep helps you recover. It also leads to an earlier time for stupid-o-clock, the time of day when everything becomes hilariously funny for absolutely no reason.
The cat has decided she’s settled, at least. See, a cat only needs a few things to make a place home, and this morning she found the last one. First, she needs a place to eat. Second, the litterbox. Third, hiding places (and ohhhh do we have plenty of those. At the moment, the apartment is a kitten’s playground!). Fourth, a couple of people she doesn’t loathe. Fifth, her favorite toy. Now that the toy has been located and there is sufficient floor space to romp in, she’s happy. Life is good. Lilit needs nothing else. Except maybe a patch of sunlight occasionally, but the nice big windows provide that all day long.
Today’s project is to get the kitchen usable. We’re about halfway there, I’d say. There was some purging during the move, but I think the list of appliances to shed will be growing. Anybody need a pasta maker in great shape?
So, I’ll admit, no rain of toads or river of blood, but our move has been marked by what are think are reasonably characterized as the ravages of a vengeful deity.
Plague the 1st: Snow. You know the Snowpocalypse that blanketed the news and people’s cars last week? We were supposed to rent our U-Haul on the very Saturday that was all going down. U-Haul called us in the morning to ask “Are you really sure you want this truck?” Like good gentlemen, they didn’t penalize us for pushing our move date back, so we rescheduled for a hopefully less snowy Tuesday. Not getting the truck left us staring down the barrel of:
Plague the 2nd: Boxes. On Friday night, we’d brought over lots of boxes of a wide assortment of things, but no furniture. “We’re getting the furniture on Saturday,” was the rationale. So when we couldn’t get the truck on Saturday (or leave the apartment), we were surrounded by boxes with no place to unpack them. Visions of boxes have filled my head all through the Christmas season.
Plague the 3rd: Mold. In the process of cleaning out our old apartment, we found a mess of tasty blackish mold growing on the wall under the headboard of our bed! That explains this blacklung we’ve been having.
(update– the management is not blaming or charging us for the mold, which is excellent and reasonable . Except now Megan’s grandfather doesn’t have any fun lawsuits to conduct.)
More to come…