It’s been a few years since my last big move. When I moved in with Nick, it was so gradual that I barely noticed that it happened…and the process was accelerated when I became ill and could no longer drive back and forth between abodes. (Nick wanted to take on the task of changing my dressings so that he could still see me every day…he took excellent care of me.)
When we received an offer on our condo that was very close to our minimum acceptable amount, it came with the requirement to be out by the end of the month—pretty stressful when a third of the month was already gone. That, and we both carry a lot of work stress…we rely on a worry-free home to keep us sane.
So anyway, I’m left comparing the two moves even though one was a relocation of 1,200 miles and the other of 10. For what I’ve saved in distance, I’ve made up for in the accumulation of stuff. In the last seven years, I’ve discovered my preferred decorating style and purchased accordingly. It’s a lesson though to be careful on what you wish for: I looked at our storage shelves in the basement several months ago and thought, “Man! I need to move! I’ve got too much stuff!” You see, I moved several times in my 20s…which forced me to live with minimal possessions for reasons of moving-laziness.
We sold our condo both slower than I hoped and faster than I expected. It was so quick that I stopped looking at houses after the one we fell in love with sold. (Why get your heart set on something you probably won’t be able to have?) Now we are (or will be soon) homeless. We will be staying with family while we figure out next steps and save for a bigger downpayment. Sophie may or not move with us, I’m not sure. She’s been staying with Grandma the last month or so for many reasons related to the craziness of showings and stacks of boxes EVERYWHERE.
There are other cats living where we will be staying. Sophie has been an only cat most of her life—and she’s female. The two together scream TERRITORIAL! even though I don’t know that for sure. Our cat has issues with anxiety, so we work pretty diligently to keep her all “calm blue ocean” every day (or she actually becomes ill). We visited her tonight at Grandma’s house, and she seems to be adjusting well there. I miss my Sophie in day-to-day life, but I question the direction that’s best for her instead of me.
SO, I’m really sore and achy, I’m tired, I’m nervous, and I’m ready to be done with boxes for a very long time.
I actually started this post on March 1st but never got around to finishing—I’m pointing this out so the title makes a bit more sense (the murder bit was added after I determined the direction of this entry). They say March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb…but we are nearly halfway through the month now, so the animal should be resembling a roaring baby sheep with really big teeth.
Two weeks ago, Nick sold our living room furniture. He listed it all on Craigslist, and someone was interested enough to buy. I stayed out of the posting and selling because Nick had all the living room furniture before I came into the picture…that, and I don’t like inviting strangers into my home. I was busy working in the office when the interested party stopped by to inspect the couch (they came for the couch and eventually left with the couch, a chair, and two tables). I was going to close the office door, but—and I completely blame Nick for all of those crime documentary type shows he watches—I decided I should leave it open in case the “couch viewing” was really part of an elaborate murder plot.
I told this to Nick afterward (he didn’t get murdered, not even the smallest bit), assuring him that I would have ventured out of the office to help him if it sounded like he was being attacked. He gave me that sarcastic Chandler Bing face (you Friends fans will understand). Looking pointedly at the desk where my phone rested, he mocked, “OR…you could have called 9-1-1.”
Ok Nick, I wasn’t thinking clearly…I thought you were going to be murdered!
Speaking of murder (thinking I’m going to set a record on the number of times I can say it in one post), he was watching a documentary tonight about a woman who killed her husband while he was asleep. They worked out that she was abusing prescription painkillers—specifically, the drug that I’ve been prescribed to take daily. I looked at Nick where he sat next to me, and I apologized in advance for any foiled or successful murder (there it is again!) attempts. He nodded in acceptance—we’re good.
In the interest of full disclosure, this lady—the one who murdered her husband—was taking upwards of 180 pills in a single week…but still! I think I have some leverage there!
Our condo has been on the market for about a month now, and we’re still a couple weeks out from the spring buying market…even so, I’ve already been thinking about the prospect of calling another place home. It leaves me melancholy: this has been my home for the majority of my adult life. Actually, it’s more—it has been the only living space that has felt like home in my adult life.
I learned so many hard truths inside these walls…I cried to them when my bravado failed, and I trusted them to keep me safe as I recuperated from illness and surgery. How strange that I should think of a simple structure as a friend…