Moving

It's moving time again. We (mom, daughter and myself) are moving apartments in the same building. Not only the same building but the same floor. They (not sure who *they* are) say that moving is one of the most stressful things that you will endure during your lifetime, ranking high up on the list amongst death, marriage and starting a new job.

I have moved 18 times in my lifetime. This is number 18. This is the closest move I've made, just down to the end of my hall, and it is the most disorganized. We were to move on October 1st, but the property managers told me that if they got the apartment ready early, then they would give me the keys. I hadn't heard anything from them until last night. They gave us the keys a week early.

My mother left me a very excited, breathless message on my cell phone to hurry home because we were getting the keys. She could hardly contain herself. Since we decided that we were going to cohabit with one another again in early summer, my mom has been camped out in my living room. I guess the thought of being able to get dressed in a room with a door was the thing that really made her happy. Or it may have been the thought of being able to roll over in bed, stretch her feet out straight or I don't know just kind of sprawl on a 90 degree angle if her heart felt the urge. Whatever it was, she was bubbling over. I saved her voice message so that I can replay it some day when she is screaming at me.

I had to work today, so my daughter and mother were left to their own devices to start moving small things down the hall at their leisure. We still have a week. I took next week off work so that I could finish (actually start) packing. I didn't even consider that I would be able to move anything in until possibly Wednesday so anything that got moved today was an absolute bonus.

I thought that my family realized this as well. When I called to say I was on my way home from work it was apparent that the moving stress had already begun. My daughter admonished me for being a packrat and told me how many heavy boxes of books I own. She asked if there was any reason for having a box full of papers from 1981. The drill went on for quite a few minutes, as I meandered along the 401 parking lot on my way home.

The thought of not going home and going somewhere else flittered briefly through my mind. I tried to flick it off my brain as quick as I could. I know how weak minded I can be. The stories I could tell, but that can wait till later.

Home is where I went. Tempers were short. Grandma and Granddaughter were in separate rooms, both with miserable looks and I felt extremely guilty because I had been working all day.

I listened to the bitching about what the other did or said to the other one all day, and how much "junk" I have, and what could be the possible reason for not having thrown anything away. After the bickering stopped for a little while, I reminded them both that we weren't even supposed to be moving today. Today was a bonus, so SHUT UP.

I hate moving.

If I can't keep up with updates for a few days, it's because I'm being whipped into action. I'll be back soon.