It’s okay. I’m literally moving house. Not, like, blog business or anything. The kind of moving with a truck and boxes and stress and self-loathing and everything.
Friday, July 8th (yes, I know I missed this post by about a week – something went wrong in my queue!) is the big day with the dudes and the truck and the furniture and all of that good stuff. We’re also having a small crew come and help us pack the night before because between my husband’s job, my job, and my chronic pain/fatigue, there just isn’t enough time or energy between us to get the job done in so little time.
Why so little time? Because out landlord gave us verbal notice that we had to be out asap at the beginning of June because she wants to sell the place that we’ve been renting. We don’t want to buy this townhouse, so off we go! Our written notice technically gives us until the end of July but we are trying to be nice tenants and we’re getting out as soon as we’re able – our place wouldn’t be available until the 8th, so the 8th it was.
There’s nothing like packing and moving (which I’ve done now five times in eight years – ugh) to make you realize how much stuff you have. When I first moved down to this area from Philadelphia, I had a pretty minimal amount of possessions. The necessities like clothes and toiletries, plus a crappy laptop and a few kitchen extras like my KitchenAid stand mixer (which is crucial to my happiness) were all I really felt like I needed. But I traveled light at that point!
Sometime around moving in with my then-fiance, I started to just… have more stuff. More clothes for my office job, more fabric for my sewing hobby, more makeup and toiletries – the stuff just slowly crept in. And now, every time we move again, a part of me tries to nest a little more by adding stuff to the hoard: books, fabric, clothing, cookware, etc. It just piles up.
I’ve always felt like a bit of a nomad and all of the moving hasn’t bothered me much until this particular relocation. We’re only moving about fifteen minutes away from our current place, so it’s not a big deal distance-wise. But it’s still too much stuff to just get a friend with a truck and some pizzas and make it work. We’re a little too old and grumpy for that, anyway. Maybe I’m finally at that age in my life where I want to know what’s mine and where I can hang my hat long-term.
I’d like to think we will buy or keep renting this new place as long as there are no glaring problems with it. Buying is a long-term plan that we’re not really dealing with right now, but it might be nice to think of myself as settled down somewhere by the time I’m 40 (so we’ve got about 8 years to get these ducks all in a row).
Don’t we all just want some place that we can call our own?