A Moving Story

Moving sucks, no two ways about it.

Couple of months ago, Jacob moved from Pensacola down to Panama City. (Thankfully my part in that process was minimal.) Then a month ago we moved Matt and Alisha up to Atlanta. Two weeks ago we moved Gene over to Jacksonville.

Then it was my turn. Matt’s suddenly-vacant house needed a tenant. I could stay living in my little dumpy apartment, OR I could slide right into Matt’s three bedroom, two bath house complete with a (drumroll, please)...two-car garage (finally!). The rent wouldn’t be much more than I was already paying. Plus, with the garage I can bring the motorcycles over and get rid of the $130/month storage shed they were staying in.

Fortunately, I don’t have a bunch of heavy stuff. So the furniture/washing machine/dryer jazz was fairly easy. Unfortunately, I have years and years of assorted crap collected…enough books and magazines to start a smalltown library…a huge record (vinyl LP’s and cassette tapes) collection, airplane and motorcycle parts galore…you name it. None of it in any kind of order. Or box.

When Matt was applying for his new position in Atlanta, he hoped for at least a little time to make the move up from Pensacola. But when he was accepted, the bank said, “The job starts Monday, take it or leave it.” So he did what any husband would do: Went to work and look for a new house in Atlanta while staying with relatives, and left Alisha behind to pack up their belongings in the old one in Pensacola. Which she did. It must not have been easy. They have two kids.

Aaaaaaaaaanyway, so they’re gone and I now have this big ol’ house all to myself. It is literally twice the square footage of my apartment. Plus, it’s got a big attic and the aforementioned garage. I’ve also got a guest bedroom and an office/computer/workout room. It’s really more room than I need. Almost makes me wish that I’d gotten married and had kids. (pause) BWAAAAHAHAHAHAH, I kill me.

As big as it is (which is great), there is also a downside to living in a house: The lawn. The goddam lawn. Matt, since he knew he was moving had not mowed in a couple of months. Here I come, and guess what, the yard looks like an African jungle out there - a waving Serengeti-like plain of sawgrass in which you could lose a small pony. Okay, that's silly, that's an exaggeration. But certainly a large poodle.

So this morning, after it was already above 80 degrees with the humidity climbing, I fired up an old, recalcitrant gas lawnmower that got left behind (Matt has a new riding lawnmower in Atlanta, of course!). The problem here is that this here house is on a big corner lot. And on a hill. It’s incredibly hard to mow – unless you’re paying somebody to do it. Which I’m not. By the time I was half-done I was about ready to have a coronary. It dawned on me why I don’t own a house.

I grew up in New York City, in apartments. I like apartments.

Back to moving, and how much un-fun it is. The moving out is bad enough. First you have to box up all your crap, throw half of it out, then get the rest over to the new place. That took about a million trips because I had done exactly none of that boxing-up bit in advance and so was not even remotely ready to move when I had the trailer rented and the necessary friend(s) present.

Okay, so you get it all moved, but then there’s the unpacking and sorting and putting things in new places. And this is a major pain too. Fortunately, this new house has tons more room to store stuff, and it is easily absorbing all of the detritus and other junk I’ve accumulated over the years. The garage is slowly emptying as things migrate to their new locations – none of which I’ll remember when it comes time to look for something important. "Now where did I put that (insert item here)?"

I hope you never have to move. I hope you’re in a nice house or apartment, in a nice location, and never have to go through the hassle of packing up and leaving. It’s such a pain in the ass that – hey, remember those books and magazines I complained about having earlier? - I just might set fire to the place and walk away next time if I ever have to move again.

Just kidding, Matt. Just…umm…kidding. Yeah. I think. I’ll let you know after I have to mow the lawn again.