The Move is only a few days away. (18 days to be exact…and counting). It feels like time is moving so fast, but everything is going in slow motion. (If that makes any sense.)
Friday night I sat home starring at all of my possessions. Hoped up on my kick ass muscle relaxers, I went through each of the rooms in my condo trying to decide what I absolutely have to take with me. That was a lot tougher than I expected. I mean, I know they are just ‘things’…but some of these ‘things’ represent a great deal to me. I currently have 1700 square feet of space, all of which needs to fit into 8 square feet. I had to think long and hard. I made some difficult decisions while I carefully chose what things of mine would go into the black hole of storage, and what things of mine will be coming with me.
And then I cried.
I couldn’t figure out why I was crying at first. I am really excited to move. I am honestly looking forward to all of the glorious benefits living home will bring to my life. So why the f*ck was I so upset? Then, I remembered what my mother said to me.
“DO NOT FORGET that moving is one of the biggest stresses in life — up there with death of loved ones and divorce — so, just because you’re happy about it doesn’t make it any less stressful. PLUS let us not dismiss the painful outcries of your OCD…it must be in high speed disorder right now with all the changes–and deconstructing your ‘things’ is putting it in overdrive. You are not crazy, you are moving. So, if you feel like crying, just cry. It doesn’t matter if you have nothing to cry about. Your body needs to cry because …
omg-that-picture-isn’t-where-it-should-be
and-those-blank-shelves-on-the-bookcase-are-giving-me-apoplexy’ stress.”
So, I cried until my face fell off.
Saturday, I went to my mothers at 9am to help re-arrange more of the disaster area that is her house. To my surprise my parents had gotten a lot done with the garage. Which made enough room to clear out the stuff that has been overloading the upstairs. Poppa Syes’ bedroom & JCH’s old bedroom are practically empty.
I was helping my father and one of his friends move dressers, boxes, clothes, ect when IT happened. As I stood in the midst of boxes, piles, furniture and the total state of disarray that is the remains of Poppa Sye’s bedroom; I began to feel physically sick. My stomach was in knots; I was sweating and feeling faint. My mother must’ve noticed the look of sheer terror on my face and led me downstairs as fast as she could.
You see, Poppa Sye’s room, was once my old bedroom. I had lived with my parents for about 6 months back when I was 27. My son and I moved in there when I left The Bar and I wanted to get my life together. But, I was a drug addict and I couldn’t stop using on my own. (That required re-hab. ) The thought of moving back into my parents house was hard enough. But the thought of moving back into THAT room was more than I could handle. I simply CANNOT move back into THAT room. There are way too many bad memories in that space for me.
My mother could tell that I was a wreck and decided it was best for me to take a ride with her to the store and just let the men finish the work inside the house. On the way to Home Depot, with tears in my eyes, I turned to my mother and said, “I can’t. I can’t move back into that room. Being in that room makes me think of Jasmine.”
My mother completely understood. After only a moment, my mom came up with a wonderful alternative. Instead of going back to my old bedroom, stepping into time machine sending me back 6 years ago, to the shittiest time in my life, instead, I will be moving into JCH’s old room. This way there are no bad memories associated with my new living space. And the room is painted an outrageous shade of PURPLE. My favorite color. Tragedy averted. Of course that room is the smallest room in the whole house, which means I am really going to have to simplify, and totally pair down to the bare minimums.
Saturday afternoon, after the Home Depot, after yet another nervous breakdown, I went home to retrieve a message from the realtor. She would be bringing a perspective tenant to the condo around 2pm. I have never been through something like that. I have never had 3 strangers come into my house, walk around and look at all of my stuff. That was weird. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with myself. Do I give them a tour? Do I have to get dressed? Can I stay in my pajamas? I really hate getting ‘dressed’ on the weekends. Do I sit on my sofa, watch TV and ignore them? What if I was watching TV, is the show The Girls Next Door inappropriate to have on the television? What if they are really conservative people? Would they be offended by a TV show that involves Playboy? Do I offer them a beverage? Do I leave my house and wait till they are gone to return? Um…Yeah. No. Idea.
I decided to stay in my pajamas, and I ended up giving the tour. The realtor and potential renter Ooooh-ed-and Aaaa-ed at my condo. “Did you decorate?” “Wow! This is beautiful.” “Yeah. It is beautiful.” Those were the only words I could muster up. Fortunately, they were only in my house for 15 minutes. It was over faster than I had imagined.
I was so mentally and physically exhausted I laid down to take a nap at 3pm.
Yeah, that nap, turned into the longest sleep ever. 3pm (Saturday)-11am (Sunday). Yes. I slept for 20 hours. In.A.Row.
I awoke refreshed, alive, and ready to go. 20 hours of sleep will make anyone feel like a super hero. I wasn’t upset, or nervous, or anxious. I wasn’t hyper, or psychically sick. I was motivated. I wanted to start packing. I was ready, willing and able to face what needed to be done. I brought in all the boxes from my car and started packing. After a hard day of labor, I feel like I really made a solid dent in the moving process. My house is starting to look empty. Alas, I feel like everything is in motion, and, I feel like everything that needs to get done is finally getting done. But, I still can’t really look at my house without feeling a little bit like:
omg-that-picture-isn’t-where-it-should-be
and-those-blank-shelves-on-the-bookcase-are-giving-me-apoplexy’ stress.
Sunday night, after I filled, taped, and labeled all the boxes, rather than walk around my house in circles, gazing at the emptiness, I found solace reading my favorite blogs and playing with my Mac.
PS… Thank you so much to Barbara over @ Writing From The Inside Out, for this award. This could not have come at a better time.
