I’m so sick of moving. This will be the third time in less than three years and the 11th time altogether. It’s tiring and absolutely brings out the angry speed-talking demon jaguar in everyone. By the time the last load is unloaded and the former place is cleaned, I am ready to throat punch the nearest individual. I still haven’t learned my lesson either. I NEVER take time off to move. Now granted, I have been a little spoiled the last few times as my husband has some I Dream of Genie moving power and practically has us moved and set up before anyone can blink an eye, but there is still so much to do – unpacking at the new place, reorganizing everyone’s drawers (and by everyone – I mean the kids), changing addresses at the DMV and so on. There’s also the reality that everything you need suddenly goes missing upon moving into a new place. The box you think you put it in – of course not. The drawer – nada. In the back of the U-Haul – not that easy chick.
Once you stumble across that missing item, then the real fun begins. You discover the Internet or cable is not working. Oh sure – they tested it. But in the interim, when you were in the depths of moving hell, the electricity gremlins came and took down your essential services. This is about the time I freak out (and by freak out – I mean flip my ever loving shit). No Internet means – unable to work. Unable to work means I fall behind.
After spending two hours trying to reach a customer service rep, you are told there was just a loose connection. A.loose.connection. The rep says all you need to fix it is a gizamapoot – you know, that tool. So you go to the box where all the tools were packed…wouldn’t you know it.
Rinse and repeat. I hate moving with the depths of my soul.