A quarter of a mile or a continent away…
It doesn’t matter – moving is hell. I’ve just spent the past month moving exactly two blocks away. Downhill. Perfect weather. Smaller to larger place so not much trouble figuring out where to put things. Twenty days (instead of one) to move everything.
You’d think it would be the easiest move ever. You’d be wrong. Big time wrong.
And it was all my fault. I had a plan, a very good one. We would take boxes over, either in the car or by hand on a trolley—that way, we wouldn’t have to wrap things up or unwrap them. That way, we wouldn’t end up with dozens of boxes to get rid of at the end because we would unpack them right away and reuse the boxes for the next trip.
Actually, that part of the plan worked pretty well for the first week or so, especially for the kitchen. We got most everything over there and unpacked without trouble and I was feeling quite proud of myself and confident that it was going to be the easiest move ever.
Things started to fall apart round about Day 6. Why? Because the things that needed to be moved weren’t so easy to pack nor so easy to put away. And we were tired and starting to panic, worrying that we wouldn’t make our deadline. The movers were to arrive to shift the furniture and the big stuff on Day 13—that should have been my first clue.
So somewhere around Day 10 we began to throw things into closets and rooms and corners without dealing with them because we just wanted to get them over to the new place. The organization part of the plan completely collapsed. We didn’t label the boxes, we didn’t organize the placement, we just ran in, dropped things off and went back for another load.
By Day 13—when the movers arrived—we were exhausted. While they were packing up the track, I ran over to the new place and made room for the furniture which of course meant I was moving dozens of boxes from place to place. This part of the move went well. The furniture looked good where I’d planned to put it and we slept in the new place that night.
But then came Days 14 through 20.
It became the week of excavation and discovery. Oh, there’s still a pile of stuff in the locker and on the balcony. All these books (including the ones hidden in the closets and the locker and the…) have to go over but the bookshelves haven’t been moved. What are we going to do about Items X and P and W?
The books, always easy to move, weren’t so easy to deal with. First, because there are probably 4000 of them and, second, I didn’t want to leave them in boxes (a return to my anti-box plan). We settled on eight boxes as the optimum number that would fit in the SUV and began—and ended—Week 3 by moving those eight back and forth. We’d pack them in the old place, put them in the boxes, then unpack them (onto the floor) in the new place. Halfway through the week we moved the bookshelves and then I took them off the floor and put them on the shelves.
And then there were the last 2 days. Moving the most awkward items and cleaning up behind us.
But it’s done (or sort of)—and this is how I feel right this very minute. As if I’d won the gold medal (this is one of the actual medal podiums from the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver) for moving!