I now know what separation anxiety feels like.
No fewer than 8.6 times a day, I go into my office looking for something that 5 weeks ago, I loaded into a PODS and it disappeared into never, never land. Each of those 8.6 moments is another realization that my stuff is gone for 2 more months. It is, quite frankly, my own special form of torture.
This great Houdini was all part of Operation Move. He said, “We’ll load everything up, put the house on the market, sell it in a couple of days, find a new one, move within two months. You’ll be fine.”
Riiiiigggghhhhhttttt. I am not fine.
We spent that 100+ degree weekend stuffing that PODS, realizing how much we hate moving and how we had just made the house worse than when we started because we didn’t put anything breakable in the PODS, just the furniture that held it. Now all of our homeless stuff is inconveniently displayed across the floor and on top of all the favorite furniture. And I’m too tired to do anything about it other than shut my eyes and look the other way, hoping that that a pug chase doesn’t find itself crashing through the maze of crystal that is now the obstacle course that I call my dining room.
So the new plan is that we’re building a house, moving into it, then selling this one. I like this plan MUCH better, except, the new house is still under construction and I am growing impatient. Two weeks ago, it looked like this:
Last weekend it looked like this:
Argh. Just brick. That’s all we’ve gotten so far. Generally I am easy going, but the 60 days that we will likely have to wait to move in feels-like-forever and daily I think of something that’s in the PODS that I’d really like to be stripping and painting right now. If only I could see some walls up in the new house, I’d have hope. Please, just some walls! It will seem like we’re making progress if I can have a proper wall.
Until then, we wait. And we visit and note the infinitesimal change from the day before. And we dream of the perfect house. That one day we’ll move into. And it will have our PODS parked in front returning all our stuff.
And then all will be right in the world.