What's that you say? You hadn't noticed I was gone? Jerkface. *cackle* In all seriousness, it has been an awesome and hectic almost-month. The major dominating force was the impending move, which is thankfully completed. However, for the last two weeks before that move the cable and internet, which were under Stacey's name, were shut off. I had no access to anything except on my phone, and while I imagine it was possible to blog from an iPhone, I'm wordy and my fingers would have cramped up by the third paragraph.
The move helped me rediscover one overwhelming fact about myself:
I. Hate. Moving!
I have so many books, DVDs, games, and other crap that the actual move was ghastly. Heavy lifting, packing, cleaning, the horrid mess of cardboard boxes, the constant, deepening question of, "Why the hell am I keeping this?", and the subsequent urge to throw it all out--every last bit of it. I went through it all.
Also, I went from an upstairs apartment to an upstairs apartment in the same complex. Each moving trip consisted of a non-stop 2 trips up the stairs and 2 trips down. We did it in two awful days. Toward the end of the first day, my knees were killing me (common for runners and other jerks not used to walking up or down inclines frequently. I walk a lot, but on a level sidewalk). By the second day I was walking like a bowlegged ballerina in a cow's graceless plie because it used the insides of my knees instead of the outside. I text my friends and told them that it was the worst move of the last 1,000 years--it was easier to move Napoleon's troops into deepest, wintery Russia.
I decided to go through all my old things instead of just packing the unused ones away. I am convinced things come alive and move themselves and multiply in the night. My dining "room" is like a Cardboard Wonderland full of books, blankets, old game system boxes, DVDs and Blu-rays, more books, and a few nights I swear I saw a gnarled goblin and two old Catwoman toys in a three way beat down over my last red velvet cookie. It's like the 80s movie Dolls in here, but with fewer young Helena Bonham Carter lookalikes.
The clutter is driving me mad. The workload I thought would last for all of January and only part of February looks like it will plunder deep into March's sanctity. I have other stuff (very good stuff which will be related later) pending, which I'm dreadfully excited to get started on. I have more that I want to do. I'm stressed, busy, and very content.
The location I'm in is better, darker at night, and much, much quieter. I get into bed and I'm asleep within 15 minutes, no matter what the time. I don't hear someone coming into the apartment and have to repress an urge to vomit in irritation. There is a feeling of peace and contentment here, Cardboard Wonderland or not. I was lamenting last week about work the next day and this unbidden thought appeared in my head, "Yeah, but I get to come back HERE!" I was instantly cheered up.
There is peace here, and I'm content. I wasn't so sad to see the old apartment go as a whole, but I was very sad to see my old room go, where I spent 99% of my time. If there was a home in that place, it was my room, but I constantly felt like I was being intruded upon. This place is thus far perfect. I'm happy here. Problems will arise, I know that. But right now it's everything I had hoped for.
Tomorrow I celebrate my three year anniversary with my significant other in a new place that I so far love. Could be worse.