Moving must be one of the missing circles of hell: a note to Dante.
Moving to my new house has been a bitch. In fact, I am still in the process. My old lease ended July 31, but my new lease does not start until August 8. That leaves me (for those weak in mathematics) eight days of homelessness. I was not aware of this fact until recently. It caught my roommate by surprise too. There was some error in communication.
I spent the first night in a hotel, the second and third nights in Tallahassee and I will be seeing out the rest of my stay at a friend’s apartment.
I had to ditch many of my things — anything that would not fit in the back of my S-10. I did get many of my most important possessions into a room of my bandmate’s apartment that she technically does not live in yet. My vinyl records are safe in the living room of another friend’s. I was devastated when a record that was left in my record player melted during the move.
It was a very stressful affair. After awhile, possessions started to mean nothing. They were shit for all I cared. Most of my furniture was left on the curb in the process. I will miss my little desk. I will hate having to restock all the spices and dishes. Seven garbage bags full of food and kitchen accessories were dumped.
It was a catharsis of sorts. I go through those. Sometimes forced, sometimes willingly; sometimes a combination of both: Back in high school, my parents tried to force me to go through my things and re-prioritize them. My stepmother demanded I do it in a very specific way. It involved, essentially, a trash pile and a sentimental/keep pile. It was not unreasonable, but the process was. By process, I mean my stepmother directing the show. She often does not know how to handle me. That happens in mixed families. Blood helps tie together thought and understanding. After a spat, I dumped all my possessions in the trash pile. I knew there was a lot of money in that pile. They never knew I knew that, but I did. It was reckless. They told me I gave up my rights to choose what I kept and that they would go through it. It resulted in many things that were actually sentimental being thrown away and other things, recently purchased at Walmart and thought to be sentimental (I am sorry to point out that although it was a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bobble pen, it was from the remake cartoon series, not from my childhood, and was meant to be a birthday present for someone else) were thrown away.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
I helped many roommates, friends and roommate’s friends move. The perks of owning a truck.
I failed in a rushed attempt to fix my truck before the process. Right now, it is parked out in a neighboring apartment complex’s visitor parking spot. I went to it recently to find some things, but ended up getting frustrated.
Too many helping hands while moving. Being rushed, being pulled in multiple directions, etc. etc.
I did not find what I was looking for.