Is it weird that I love moving?
(Actually, I should probably say that I love moving when I don’t have to scrub a whole apartment afterward.)
Even though I’ve been in this constant state of trying to accomplish things for the past year or so, this is the first time in a while that I feel accomplished. I think it’s the sweat and the muscle aches and empty rooms I’ve created.
I’m down to one carload left for each location, then movers are taking my Grandpa’s desk the week later. I’m sort of frustrated that I could do the rest tomorrow if it wasn’t for dogsitting and a moving appointment that I made before I realized how much I kick ass at this.
I managed to move my dresser all by myself, without Justin or my mom seeing me and yelling at me about my back or needing help. (I have this habit of moving big things and terrifying my loved ones.)
The other thing I love is the time I get to spend with myself, if that makes sense. I have all my belongings stretched over three places and so the only thing that I have access to at all times is me. Every now and then, you have to do things to remind yourself that, sometimes, the only thing you need is you. (I would prefer to have this epiphany through travel, but I suppose moving into my mom’s basement for honorable, non-poverty reasons is the next best thing.)
I’ve decided that since there are four sides to the yard, four rooms in the basement, and I’ll be there for four months, I’ll focus on one side and one room for each month. (My parents have a huge, overgrown yard and a huge, overstuffed basement.) Considering I gave myself a month to move and I did it in a week… holy crap you guys. I think I can actually do all of this.
Also, because I’m not crazy enough, I just finished week five of Insanity and the psychotic hour-long cardio month starts tomorrow. Can you tell I’m currently shitfaced on adrenaline and endorphins??