Hurtling Towards The End Of The Week (Or Moving On Friday)
Ever have a week where each day feels like a month?
But, the kind of month that you barely remember, and seems to zip past in the blink of an eye?
That’s the kind of week I’m having. Or, rather, that’s the kind of week I feel like I’m having. You know, where I feel like I often don’t know if I’m coming or going. Where I have a million different things to deal with in each twenty-four hour span and somehow I knock most all of them out in that twenty-four hour span; but then the amount of stuff to do quadruples and then quadruples again and…until I go to bed and play whack-a-mole on my to do list.
Such is moving for me. Which I do not like. Why? Because I’ve done it sooooo many times in my life. I’m hoping that this one will be the third, or even the second to last move for a long, long time. But, heck, I said that last year when I moved into my current place. Well, how was I supposed to know what would happen? It’s not like I’m psychic.
The funny thing is that I don’t mind being a nomad. It’s just that as I’ve gotten older, I’ve attempted to lead a more real life. You know. The one where you actually try and craft a home for yourself. I spend a predominate amount of time in my home, so it makes sense to me that I would trick it out will all the comforts I prefer. This does not, however, bode well for the vagabond in me. With comfort comes stuff and with stuff comes weight and with weight comes roots. It’s an age old pattern. One that we’ve all followed to greater or lesser degrees. And yes, you can choose to unload your stuff and become free and weightless – mobile in a moment, but often lacking a certain kind of comfort. Trust me, I’ve experienced both sides of the coin in unique ways.
- I once lost everything I owned in an apartment fire and moved with the clothes on my back and a Red Cross coat.
- There was the time, on Thanksgiving Day, in less stable and sane times, that I walked out of a three bedroom apartment I was renting in Chicago with my clothes, CD’s, (This was back when CD’s existed), my computer, and my books and left all the furniture, food in the fridge, my bed, television, VCR (this was in the preDVD era), dishes, pots, pans and just went.
-There was the time I moved to San Francisco with four suitcases on an airplane, which was everything I owned. I lived in various residential hotels when I arrived.
-I moved out west with everything I owned in my Toyota, which was predominately books.
On the flip side, there were the three apartments I lived in for more than a year (Which was a rarity.) Two of which were with my Ex, Mikki, and still dear friend. In both, because we were doing quite well bartending at the time, we spent about $5,000 a piece in each – furniture, painting, light fixtures, cooking gear, rugs, blinds, tools, art for the walls, these special wood crates from Montana. I almost retiled an entire bathroom in an apartment we were renting just because I didn’t like the look of the tile and this was after I hung up my dancing shoes.
Anyways, I could go on, but there isn’t any need. I’m not quite sure why I got into that whole list, and those specific memories. I guess to remind myself it’s a fluid state. The way things are today – the outside world around you – is not how things will necessarily be tomorrow. Sure, hopefully they will, but I’m not, and you’re not, in control of that. So, just go with where you need (not want) to be and leave the rest.
And make sure you save your boxes, whether you keep your stuff or not!