Moving In
Will there ever be a move in which we don’t have to buy out Ikea’s shelving department? Will there ever be a move in which we don’t have to sell things in a last-minute fire sale? Will there ever be a move that does not involve purchasing a great quantity of window coverings? Will there ever—
Oh, hello. You seem to have caught me with my move-in brain in hypermode. Really, I am absolutely astounded that a move in which we had to do next to nothing—not pack, not haul, not store—can still be so exhausting. Yes, we moved cross-country, but I somehow thought that being moved would make it all so much easier. It did, in many ways, but the unpacking was still left to us, and it’s a doozy.
Moving day was Saturday. Thank goodness Andrew’s mom came up for a few days to help—she was able to stay with Lucia at Trump Place while Andrew and I drove down to Park Slope to meet the movers and orchestrate the move-in. It took five hours for three burly Ace Moving men to unpack the truck and then reassemble all the furniture that had been unassembled to save space during the cross-country journey. Our bedroom bench nearly did the burliest man in. “Sorry about the bench,” I said when he left. “At least I’ll know what to do next time I see one,” he said. “Run.” The men left. And then the unpacking began.
And the unpacking, nearly a week later, continues. Our new apartment has ample storage, but it is still—always—a challenge to find a home for everything. We made trips to Ikea and Target for some shelving, and another moving company returned on Wednesday to pick up all our empty boxes and packing materials, so things are looking less chaotic now and more just messy. But what a mess! What an absolute mess. To me, one of the key indicators of the level of mess we have—and my desperation to just get everything out of boxes—is that our books are not alphabetized. Our books are on shelves in random order. I’m trying not to let this drive me crazy, and so far I’ve had other things to think about, but it’s tempting to open a wager to see how long I’m able to let this random arrangement last.
But underneath the mess, the piles of towels with no home, the nest of printer cords and alarming unpacked bags of food items—underneath it all is a lovely apartment, our new home, with high ceilings and loads of charm and an atmosphere of rest and happiness. Soon I hope we’ll actually be able to see it.
Oh, hello. You seem to have caught me with my move-in brain in hypermode. Really, I am absolutely astounded that a move in which we had to do next to nothing—not pack, not haul, not store—can still be so exhausting. Yes, we moved cross-country, but I somehow thought that being moved would make it all so much easier. It did, in many ways, but the unpacking was still left to us, and it’s a doozy.
Moving day was Saturday. Thank goodness Andrew’s mom came up for a few days to help—she was able to stay with Lucia at Trump Place while Andrew and I drove down to Park Slope to meet the movers and orchestrate the move-in. It took five hours for three burly Ace Moving men to unpack the truck and then reassemble all the furniture that had been unassembled to save space during the cross-country journey. Our bedroom bench nearly did the burliest man in. “Sorry about the bench,” I said when he left. “At least I’ll know what to do next time I see one,” he said. “Run.” The men left. And then the unpacking began.
And the unpacking, nearly a week later, continues. Our new apartment has ample storage, but it is still—always—a challenge to find a home for everything. We made trips to Ikea and Target for some shelving, and another moving company returned on Wednesday to pick up all our empty boxes and packing materials, so things are looking less chaotic now and more just messy. But what a mess! What an absolute mess. To me, one of the key indicators of the level of mess we have—and my desperation to just get everything out of boxes—is that our books are not alphabetized. Our books are on shelves in random order. I’m trying not to let this drive me crazy, and so far I’ve had other things to think about, but it’s tempting to open a wager to see how long I’m able to let this random arrangement last.
But underneath the mess, the piles of towels with no home, the nest of printer cords and alarming unpacked bags of food items—underneath it all is a lovely apartment, our new home, with high ceilings and loads of charm and an atmosphere of rest and happiness. Soon I hope we’ll actually be able to see it.
Comments