As I was driving home from another lovely trail run yesterday, I saw one of the women from the main office of my apartment complex showing off the apartment that Mike and I have been staking out. This triggered a frenzied chain reaction of calls, paper signing, and eventually lead to my manic homework-related deadline smashing (I’m good until the 21st now) this morning. We are in the midst of switching utilities, boxing things, and getting ready today. I’ve splurged to hire people to help me move big furniture tomorrow while Mike is at work, so we don’t have to drop our new couch down a flight of stairs. Did I mention that we were set to entertain my parents this week and our friend, Kelley, this weekend? What about the idea that we would be doing this several weeks from now? Did I mention that I only stress-cried once this morning?
When Mom called this morning to say that they were opting for next week, without barely a mention of moving on my part, I instantly felt lighter. Then I got a message from Kelley saying that her plans had changed and she was only coming to town for a day. Suddenly, we didn’t have guests to entertain on moving week. While I’m sad that plans changed, I have to wonder if there was some sort of universal intervention happening here.
I hate moving. Everyone hates moving. When I moved into this tiny apartment in mid-2013, it was included in a personal five-year plan to not have to move again. The best laid schemes gang aft a-gley, right? I know that this is a good change, but I will definitely be thankful once Friday hits and we can breathe again.