Moving and moving on happening at the same time for once

That quote, which is one of my favorites, applies to so much in life. Like relationships. 

Like moving. 

Moving sucks. Like, it sucks big, gigantic, rotten apples. 

It doesn’t matter if I am moving one block or 1300 miles, having to pack, move, and unpack is inconvenient, not to mention an unnecessary expenditure of energy.

I could have been Facebooking and Googling random stuff over a glass or few of wine.

Although I was only moving about one county block (not as big as a city one), I had a little bit of furniture to move this time. And since I’d been dumped a few days ago I lost my help.

Which was really, REALLY inconvenient.

No, there won’t be a blog on that guy, we didn’t date long enough. That’s disappointing in itself (the no blog part). Suffice it to say, that it doesn’t always take me four years of being with someone until I realize I’m being played big time. Sometimes it only takes an act of God, Facebook, a few text messages and the balls to call someone out on their shit before they become ‘uncomfortable’ and feel ‘threatened’ by a relationship they wanted more than I did in the first place and worked so hard to prove that they are worth me wanting it, too.  Clarity in hindsight heals all wounds.

But I digress … 

So, there I was on day one of the move. I had help for a few things, (my brother from an entirely different family) but didn’t want to keep him too long as he had a life he probably needed to get back to. I didn’t have a truck or trailer and we were literally carrying things from my place to the new place. I promised dinner, but there is no amount of food that would equal the work I was asking him to do.

Plus, I needed to focus my energy before I went completely Lizzie Borden on Cupid for misfiring his arrows for the last 21 years.

Looking at all the boxes and furniture I had left, I wanted to cry. Crossfit did NOT prepare me for this. I was moving from a second floor apartment to another second floor apartment and I drive a Jetta. Boxes are not a problem; but heavy, antique chairs, a 5’x5’ glass and metal coffee table, shelves, a TV stand and carrying all of it up and down stairs – and counting the stairs and how many trips I would have to make - I was tired just thinking about it. And I wasn’t sure I would last.

But I did, because I had to, and as it turns out, Crossfit kinda DID help prepare me for this move and having to do it alone. Aside from my determination and resignation to having to get it done, I think the last eight months of Crossfit helped build up my strength, endurance and ability to understand the right and wrong way to lift something.

Especially those God-awful, awkwardly shaped, ugly yellow, antique chairs. I would never have lived down the shame of being found crushed beneath something so hideous. But I think they give my place an air of eccentricity so I had to keep them.

Being a geek and an artist, I’m all about the weird shit.

Anyway, it took me two nights, working four hours each night to get everything over to the new place, it’s all moved over except for the metal 5’x5’ coffee table. It’s not heavy, just awkward to carry. But I think I will introduce my daughter to light, manual labor tonight, enlisting her help in getting it moved.

After all, she will be getting her own room and bathroom.

Which was the reason for this move.

When I first moved back to NC, I could really only afford the one bedroom in the complex to keep my daughter in the school district she was in, since her dad was moving. I figured sharing a bed was okay because she would always crawl in my bed since she was a baby anyway.

I realized super quick that she was not a baby-sized girl anymore, though.

“Every morning when I wake up, mom, you’re clinging to the corner of the bed. Are you sleeping okay?”

Yes, munchkin, I sleep fine if I can keep that distance from your knees and elbows. It hurts when they make contact with my body piece. And holy hell your feet are like icicles in the middle of the night.  

Having one bathroom between two girls brings a whole other set of issues. It’s a small bathroom, so twice the femme-care products plus two chicks getting ready in the morning equals one of us (usually me) giving up necessary face time to leave the apartment ‘as-is.’

Plus, if you both have to use the bathroom at the same time … and it’s an emergency … guess who gets it first? When you’re a mom, it’s never you.

Although the move was rough, I’m excited to be able to give my kid her space – even if she doesn’t plan on using it unless her friends come over. Which also, means I can no longer eavesdrop on their convos for entertainment … but at least I won’t have to vacate the apartment to give them room to be teenagers.

There really is only so much coffee I can drink and spending three hours at a coffee shop gets boring. Because there is also only so much social networking I can do in three hours.

Well, one bedroom apartment, it’s been real, but I'm so ready to enjoy the upgrade.