Well, reality officially hit. I got back home on Saturday night after 8 days out of town – first in San Diego with my best friends Jen and Amanda and then in Long Beach at a conference for work. Immediately upon returning everything became a blur as we rushed to pack as much as possible as quickly as possible to prepare for the actual move.
After the moving company informed of us some logistical problems regarding securing a driver, we inquired about potentially having them come a day or two later than scheduled. This would give us some wiggle room to actually get everything together before they arrived, which we most certainly had not yet accomplished. We hadn’t heard back from them yet, but we both had a feeling that it wouldn’t be a problem, so Bill and I both went to bed on Sunday night at the end of our exhaustion rope, simply unable to do/pack/handle anything more.
Monday morning I woke up in a panic, certain that we had not done nearly enough for the movers that may or may not arrive. Knowing we hadn’t yet received a call informing us what time they would be here, I did my best to calm the eff down and tell myself that I needed to sit down, shut up, and eat a good breakfast to get through the day ahead. So I sat down, I shut my brain up, and I tried to eat. But as soon as I brought my toaster-ovened frozen waffle from my paper plate to my mouth, I heard Bill’s phone ring upstairs. “ASH, THE MOVERS ARE COMING IN 20 MINUTES.” It was 7:30 in the morning. Instant anxiety attack.
After shoving my uneaten breakfast in Bill’s face, obviously so panicked that I lost my appetite, the movers proceeded to arrive in less that the 20 promised minutes, and we were nowhere near ready. But the day happened anyway, and we got it all done with the help of two more sets of hands, a lot of sweat, and a run or two to Home Depot. I went to work, Bill went to work, I came back from work and signed the papers, the movers pulled out… and then I sat in the middle of the floor of our big empty house and stared. Indy sat with me, and she stared too.
This is really happening.
With so little time, we literally just threw anything we thought we might possible want with us into the guest room closet and hoped to goodness that we had everything.
Indy was so nervous we were going to leave her that when Bill and I stepped outside to order lunch, we turned around to find her lying at the base of the ramp into the moving truck. She was determined to go with us, no matter what it took.So then there was nothing in our house, and dinner looked like this: homegrown tomatoes, which I picked out of what was left of my destroyed garden, mixed up with whatever the hell I could find on the counter. That included a little balsamic, a little olive oil, and some shredded parmesan from the fridge for a makeshift caprese. Sort of.
Breakfast looked like a plastic bowl of cereal with the last of a carton of milk and one piece of microwaved bacon, all served up on a cardboard box.
Free time looks like this: so many activities to be done in all that empty space.
Since our bed is on a truck someplace, we are having a regular old campout on the floor to sleep.
And poor little Indy is wondering what on earth is happening to her life.
I guess that makes two of us.