Not That I’ve Been Avoiding You or Anything; Or, Amber Finally Made Me Feel Guilty Enough to Write Something

Amber told me it’s been a month since I chatted last.


I know.

It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about you. In fact, I intended to write to you throughout this whole tumultous time, to give you a blow-by-blow account of the moving madness.

but then I realized that I didn’t actually want to depress you that much. And I also didn’t want you to be that concerned for my mental health.

Suffice it to say that is has been a pretty craptaculuar few weeks.

Have you ever tried moving with a toddler when your husband is several hours away and then the movers come and tell you your packing was crappy and it will take them a whole day to re-pack and then they’ll have to come back the next day, when the new owners are going to come take over your  new house, and it will take them the whole next day to pack?  And then they get it done after all so what were they about giving you a heart attack to start the day with?  And then they finally get out and you think that you’ll be able to take a couple more hours and get the last things in the car with the cats and the toddler after cleaning a little and 3 hours later you are still cleaning and the new owners are there HOVERING watching you trying to not have an actual mental break-down while they wait for you to leave even though they don’t legally take possession until the next day and you are trying not to hyperventilate and the vacuum stops working and all the trash bins have been filled to the rim and the toddler absolutely MUST accompany you on every trip you take out to the car and back to take stuff to pack in SOMEWHERE because he  can’t be away from you for a millisecond? And meanwhile the new owners are standing around in the kitchen and bringing in hanging lamps and etc, etc.?

And I could actually go on and on in the same vein to cover the last couple weeks and tell you about the landlady’s artistic endeavors in the bathroom that she decided should be a Victorian get-away complete with mauve walls, Victorian Rose wallpaper border, and fuzzy pink bathmat, toilet seat cover and mat-that-goes-around-the-toilet-thing also sporting roses that she forced upon a 1930s bathroom with a fabulous peach-and black tile backsplash around the bathtub?  And the shower that wouldn’t turn on and when it finally turned on wouldn’t draw hot water?  And the original-to-the-house single pane windows that apparently let in every draught and sound even though they look charming? Plus the multiple cracked window panes AND the glass pulling out of frames requiring emergency caulking AND the several panes that have been replaced by plexiglass? AND the neighbor’s “victory party” for Ohio beating Michigan (it’s football.  they are kind of into that here) on our first night. AND the trains whistling all through the night from 2 blocks away.  AND the accoustical tile in the kitchen. AND the gravity furnace in the basement that is wrapped in asbestos and which, after I swept the basement with my little son chasing the dustmotes with his tongue, gave me pause to wonder if maybe I should not have swept ANYTHING down there and in fact he probably shouldn’t be down there at all and now I’m convinced he will suffer from asbestos-related illnesses a decade hence and don’t think it hasn’t kept me up at night.

AND living among a vast crowd of boxes which say nothing and do even less.  Why can’t they unpack themselves? And also why do movers use one whole box for a lightbulb?

And if one more person comments on how much stuff I own, I’m going to sock them one.  If they don’t think they have as much stuff, then they haven’t moved an entire household recently.  So stuff it.  Especially when movers use one whole box to pack one lightbulb in.

AND the irony is that T  has decided he can take no more of the Big Sucky Corporate Bank he hired on with and is going to start back to work with his OLD company. In Cincinnati.  Where he will commute daily. Sadly, he feels that even with the commute he will be home more than if he had stayed at the Big Bad Bank. Which is probably true and is sad that people are expected to work and not go home to their families ever.  But that is a whole other topic.

And nap-time is rapidly disappearing.

And all my other interests and pursuits have had to go on the back burner for the past month and that is quite irritating. 

So Merry Christmas, y’all. Bah! Humbug!!!


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Amberlina
    Dec 15, 2009 @ 14:26:30

    1. Movers are evil
    2. Landlady is evil
    3. Neighbors are evil
    4. Trains are evil
    5. Big Sucky banks are evil
    6. I am evil for making you relive it.

    BUT, you do write a good story. I think this is all ultimately pointing you back to Oregon in a more timely fashion. Tell your husband I said so. Tell your mom she should move.


  2. Emily
    Dec 15, 2009 @ 14:48:29

    Sigh. Well at least you got all that out! Do you feel better? Or worse? Should we come for an emergency visit?


  3. Sharon
    Dec 15, 2009 @ 18:18:22

    Oh, Michele. Sigh. I feel your pain. I think you should probably move into my house while I’m gone and/or until Troy agrees that you should move to Oregon.


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