country countdown

The old apartment is packed up and my entire life (minus cats and dog) is in boxes and bags. The boys are coming tomorrow morning to load up the trailer and I’m on pins and needles waiting. I’m paranoid that everything won’t fit on the trailer, and that I’ll have to call for backup and my best-laid plans of a single trailer load and all non-box and non-furniture items will fall apart. I speak from personal experience. This is move #11 in fifteen years, and the first time that I’ve paid someone to help.

I would really like for this to be the one time when I can look back moving day and say, “That went smoothly” and “I didn’t hurt myself”. I even went as far as to buy a roasted chicken to put in the fridge so I’ll have something to eat while I’m scurrying about: I know from past experience that I will forget to eat most of the day, and then when I do remember I’ll grab the first thing I see in the fridge: hence the chicken; good protein to keep me from flipping out.

Scheduled for this afternoon: Charlie is going to stay with my folks while I get my hydro account set up and then either spend the night with them or drive back for one last night in the city. I’m inclined toward staying there. I’m done with the city. This has been the day of “This is the last time I’ll use this shower/walk this block/turn on this light/hear that jerk papillon dog next door at 6:30am/drive through the industrial end of town to get to work etc, etc, etc.”. It’s satisfying.

Every now and then I get a text from my lovely friends who will soon be my neighbours: countdowns, “HUZZAH!”s, and “I can’t wait” messages pop up and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

This is the best move I’ve ever made.

24 hours and counting…

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