Pizza and Gratitude

I hate moving.

Like, I really, really hate moving. I used to move around quite a bit, in the way a young person without a ton of possessions does. Nothing a few McDonald's french fry boxes and a pal with a light truck couldn't handle. Get my phone switched over and tell my booty call(s) my new address - easy peasy! Done in a day! But now... now, moving is ugly. Now it's four people and thirteen years' worth of accumulated shtuff, and I have very seriously considered whether just lighting everything on fire would be simpler than putting it all in boxes to cart to the next place.

Oh, right - we bought a new house. Forgot to mention that. Why would I go and buy a new house if I hate moving so much? Let me start by saying that I love - LOVE - my current house. I truly believed I would live here forever. It's so darn cute and cozy! So why would I buy a new house if I love my current house and hate moving? Truthfully, it's all yet another unanticipated side effect of the Covid: about two weeks ago, it struck me that there is a very real, very terrifying possibility that all four of us could still be working from home come September. I thought of how the people didn't listen to the Amityville Horror House when it told them to GET OUT NOW, and just look what happened to those idiots, and if the prospect of all four of us trying to work from our 1,000 square foot home for the forseeable future is not at least the close relative of GET OUT NOW then I do not know what is.

Two weeks later, we have a new house. (I am a woman of action! ... sometimes.) Now we just gotta move into it.

So do I hate moving more than I hate living in the Amityville Horror House's second cousin (or so)? It's early days yet, so it's tough to say. I've resigned myself to not-arsoning everything, but I do have a new fantasy where someone comes in and loves everything so much they ask if they can keep my furniture and then I just waltz away from it all, no movers required. I think of this as the Pretty Woman scenario: dreamy, but highly implausible. My couch is no Julia Roberts, if you know what I mean.

Speaking of Pretty Woman, we are doing this moving thing way classier than I used to - not a french fry box in sight! I bought boxes this time around, which is actually really stupid if you think about it so let's not, and I'm going to pay people actual money - not just pizza and gratitude - to move my things around for me. I don't even have a booty call(s) anymore, which I think is pretty classy of me as well, given the circumstances; you're welcome, DH! I'll bet younger me would be super impressed with all this high classery. Very aspirational for a young pup with naught but some french fry boxes and a dream of tidy roommates!

Alright, time to stop with the productive procrastination and get back to packing. Wish us luck!

P.S. You're all invited to our housewarming party, if parties are ever allowed again.