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breeden
ursulav

Moving: The Frazzling

Hook up utilities. Disconnect utilities. Pack painting. Hook up phone. Disconnect phone. Disconnect cable. Pack more paintings. Raise credit limit. Change address for credit card, student loan, auto loan, auto insurance, mailing address, etc. Get more boxes. Pack box of dreadful student art for posterity. Listen to James tell me how we’re going to have to pay our new internet provider in blood plasma for the privilege and get half the service, plus someone will come around regularly to beat us. Eat Tums. Ignore James. Pack something. Do esoteric things with the bank. (Somehow Wells-Fargo’s icy grip ‘pon the nation has not yet squeezed tight around the Southeast, forcing us to do arcane things with money wire transfers.) Get even more boxes. Pack something. Finish art. Eat Tums. Finish more art. Realize that contract has not been mailed–print, go out and mail. Come back. Realize that box of dried peppers for stepfather has not been mailed. Curse. Box peppers. Eat more Tums. Go out and mail peppers. Smile sheepishly at cashier. Come back. Realize that student loan payment has not been mailed. Scream a bit. Flail arms like cuttlefish amateur actor. Empty half bottle of Tums down throat. Pack.

People keep asking me “Are you looking forward to moving?” And I feel the corners of my mouth twitch up in a rictus and hear myself say, in that genial singsong that my brain uses when it knows that the Real Answer must be supressed in the interests of courtesy, “Oh, well, I’m looking forward to BEING moved, not the moving so much…”

I like packing, as I’ve said before, but I pretty much hate every other part of moving, and generally spend it in a nerve-frayed state, waiting for Something To Go Wrong. Actually, “I hate moving” isn’t descriptive enough. I feel it lacks resonance. How about “Moving gives me the feeling that my chest cavity has been filled up with a number of small furry animals, all of them milling about and climbing on top of each other with their tiny little sharp claws, and–this is the key bit–all screaming in unison.”

Much better. But I do hate moving, too.

Still, in a few days, it’ll all be done, and then I can shoo the furry animals out, and all will be well.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.