The Blog about Moving...

Moving sucks.
I've lived in 7 different places in the last 11 years.
I hate moving. Hate it. HATE.

Number One, I'm a pack-rat. I save EVERYTHING. Not valuable stuff, mind you... sentimental stuff. A poem I wrote in Kindergarten, ticket stubs from shows I've loved, the kids' first lost tooth - which is understandable. But floppy disks full of furniture for 'The Sims' and a misspelled fortune cookie slip? Move on already! Needless to say, I've amassed a lot of crap in the last decade.

Number Two, I'm not an organized person. Half of my craft stuff is in the linen closet and the other half is in the studio where I built an emergency prop 6 months ago... that's just how I live. Getting all of my stuff into boxes is one thing - getting it organized into the same boxes... well, that's just impractical. Half of my bedroom kitsch got packed into boxes with my pots and pans.

Number Three, I hate manual labor. More notably, I hate anything that requires upper body strength. I will walk miles upon miles (uphill both ways) before I will pick up something heavier than 40lbs and move it from point A to point B. I am an upper-body weakling and I don't like being reminded of it, so I just don't try.

So, the week of June 25th - after returning from a glorious overnight trip to San Diego with my other two witchy cohorts, I set about 'downsizing' and packing everything into boxes.

Photo proof of the first broken nail in the process - which also accurately expresses my opinion about packing and moving.









By the end of the week, my goal was to have everything of mine in storage and ready to load for Florida. With the exception of the washer and dryer (which required help from the guys and their truck) I made my goal... with only two monster bruises to show for it! 

And although I had wonderful company during my days, they weren't much help at all. 







I have NO idea what she's smiling about. It's MOVING DAY!!

Calling upon the powers of my daughter's favorite demigod, I sally forth unto the adventure that is schlepping crap from one place to the next....

And, in the end... after much scrubbing, sweeping and swiffering.... I say 'goodbye' to my last home in AZ - and 'good riddance' to the craziest landlord - and possibly the craziest person - I've ever met.

The final bruise count is inaccurate, but it looks something like this:

And when all is said and done - I'm 95% moved into storage, awaiting departure for Sarasota - Jason is moved in to his new apartment... and we take a well-deserved break for wine and spa treatments.

We're both a few hundred pounds lighter - having relieved both our households of furniture, clothing, knick-knacks, crap, junk and shit. Here's to hoping that the next move is as easy or easier than this one... Good God, I have to do this again in a month!! 
 ...more wine, please.