"But didn't you just move, Abi?"
"Well, yeah, but it's never too soon to destroy your relationships, empty your wallet, and break half of your belongings a second time!"
"But if you broke half of your belongings in the first move, and half in the second move, then wouldn't you have nothing at this point? How do you still have enough crap for 3 families boxed up in your living room?"
"I don't know, theoretical person, I don't know."
Just another one of the great mysteries of moving. Where did all this crap come from? Did my crap meet my roommates' crap and have little crap babies? Where will we house the crap babies???
And what the heck is this? It was in the "moving" tag so I'm rolling with it. Source.
So, in case one blog entry about moving wasn't stressful enough, here is my revised step-by-step "How to Move" guide, now that I've gone from an apartment to a house.
- Step 1: Don't do it. Don't bother moving.
- Seriously, don't.
- What, you want to have your roommates' blood on your hands? Because they'll definitely ask for it. And you'll ask for it too. Moving is a bloodbath. Have you seen the show Spartacus? It's about gladiators, injustice, and gory special effects. And it serves as a solid visualization of what your moving process is going to be like.
- Well, aren't YOU a stubborn one. Current place not good enough for ya, huh? OoooOOOOoo, look at you, too special for your current home, too much time watching HGTV. Boohooboohoo.
- OK, fine. So you're moving. Acquire gloves, an entire store's worth of cleaning supplies, and some nerves of flippin' steel.
- Lay out your boxes for each room as though you're going to employ an orderly system with which to sort and store your modest belongings.
- Screw it. There's no time for order. Jam your obscene amount of crap into the sorry scraps of boxes your fiancee managed to snag from her job with a pizza shop. Don't mind the grease. If you're moving in the summer, you'll cover your stuff with plenty of your own grease anyway.
- Do as much as you can before your family arrives en masse one casual Saturday morning with 15 minutes notice.
- They're gonna say stuff. They always say stuff. Bite your lip, kick the dumpster, and remind yourself that they have good intentions and they're the ones with the big-ass truck and the safety net for if you do something stupid again, which you will, because look at you. I mean, you thought moving was a good idea. What other "good ideas" are you going to come up with?
- ...
- From there it's kind of a whirlwind... I think...
- There was definitely some crying...
- Because, duh.
- Also drinking?
- And what the heck are those stains on the carpet? Melted crayons? Aren't you all adults here? Was there a ghost toddler?
- Make an offering of tears and stale tortilla chips to the ghost toddler to placate him or her.
- Drive back and forth between your two homes, unsure of where you should be staying while you're still "technically" in your old place. You don't win either way, because neither place has Wi-Fi, you poor sucker.
- ... it's hazy again, my dudes... lots of boxes... always with the boxes...
- And then boom! You're surrounded by boxes in your new place, and you've mangled your friendships, and most of your furniture looks like its been a prop in a monster truck rally.
And that's pretty much it. You wait a few weeks for your internet provider to extract their heads from their butts and get your new place set up so you can ignore the untouched boxes and watch Netflix. You wonder how they wrote "Abigail" as "Lavogabella" in their notes, even though you spelled your exceedingly common name for them. And then you complain about it on social media, even though Lavogabella is a better stage name than you could have come up with on your own.
There you have it! Abi has a new house! Er, an old house, rented from my uncle/employer (and now landlord). The tangled webs we weave.
Stay tuned for *drum roll*
...
BAD AT PUPPIES.
(It's a joke. Please don't call the Humane Society.)