my technicolor breakdown
I had a huge crying fit last night, not my style but wonderfully clarifying.
I finished up the dregs of moving, which is ALWAYS WAY WAY more work than you think it will be, as my new Roommate S (a moving expert) reminds me. After choosing (truly) half of my belongings to leave my life, I took eight bags of clothes to the AIDS Taskforce bin, two bags and two boxes of books to Preterm, and I set up appointments with three families over freecycling to come and take it away...specific items and "free shopping" through the rest. Two came, plus the woman I gave all my art supplies to for her studio/art therapy practice. That relieved me of a lot of the debris, but there was still sooooo much -- stuff I forgot to list on freecycling, stuff I meant to take to the new place but forgot, trashtrashtrashtrash. So I was left at 9pm with a truckload of leftovers.
My neighbor (who I didn't have much connection with previous to this -- another rule of moving -- those who help in significant ways are totally fucking RANDOM) stopped by to see if she wanted anything and saved my ASS. She took down shelves, cleaned and swept, and helped me make at least twenty trips out to the dumpster with heavy stuff. It was endless. Seemed like there was always one more thing, one more thing, almost done, only this next trip, one more...I thought I'd be out of there at 9:30 and didn't leave until 11p.m. Without the neighbor I would have been there until 3a.m. for sure.
I squeezed myself into the overpacked car, went for gas, picked up beer for Rytch, had to go back to the old place for freezer stuff I remembered I forgot...got home at 11:45. I realized getting out of the car that I could barely stand. I was shaky, couldn't muster the energy to keep my mouth from hanging open, so exhausted I couldn't walk or see right. I'd gotten to bed at 3a.m. and up at 7, and the night before I got 5 hours of sleep, and the night before...I hadn't eaten for twelve hours (and that was Taco Bell), I hadn't had water to drink, I'd been doing physical activity I'm unaccustomed to. This is all a predictable consequence of moving, working part time, full-time school, being in a band, and my three-day-a-week field placement. I knew it would be like this when I set it all up; if anything I'm surprised it all happened on schedule, and relatively smoothly with more help than I expected.
But I was so depleted last night and still had a car to unload. I started listlessly dragging shit in, barely able to negotiate the stairs to the porch. Finally, I pinched my finger moving the microwave and started to SOB. I cried and cried, face in my hands, leaning on the car door to hold me up. I was there probably a seven or ten minutes when roommate S came out to go to a show and found me. She asked if I needed help, and I sobbed this little "yeah"...she was so great. Rubbed my back, hugged me, reminded me to me breathe, helped my get under control enough to tell her I was ok, just wrung out. She gave me very clear directions like I was a little kid -- go inside, drink a glass of water and eat a piece of pizza, sit down, I will finish these boxes. I did and I am so grateful to her. I think my electrolytes were all out of whack, I was so dehydrated that I sobbed hard without much tears, I was ready to fall down from sleep deprivation, just DONE.
But I took a bath in my GLORIOUS bathtub, put on Dead Can Dance and low light and bath salts and lavender, sang to the goddess and blessed myself, welcomed myself home. This truly feels like home, it's wonderful. It feels so, so safe, neighbors and all. I know I'm blessed and lucky. Thank Big Mama for healing tears and my hard-won ability to accept help.
I finished up the dregs of moving, which is ALWAYS WAY WAY more work than you think it will be, as my new Roommate S (a moving expert) reminds me. After choosing (truly) half of my belongings to leave my life, I took eight bags of clothes to the AIDS Taskforce bin, two bags and two boxes of books to Preterm, and I set up appointments with three families over freecycling to come and take it away...specific items and "free shopping" through the rest. Two came, plus the woman I gave all my art supplies to for her studio/art therapy practice. That relieved me of a lot of the debris, but there was still sooooo much -- stuff I forgot to list on freecycling, stuff I meant to take to the new place but forgot, trashtrashtrashtrash. So I was left at 9pm with a truckload of leftovers.
My neighbor (who I didn't have much connection with previous to this -- another rule of moving -- those who help in significant ways are totally fucking RANDOM) stopped by to see if she wanted anything and saved my ASS. She took down shelves, cleaned and swept, and helped me make at least twenty trips out to the dumpster with heavy stuff. It was endless. Seemed like there was always one more thing, one more thing, almost done, only this next trip, one more...I thought I'd be out of there at 9:30 and didn't leave until 11p.m. Without the neighbor I would have been there until 3a.m. for sure.
I squeezed myself into the overpacked car, went for gas, picked up beer for Rytch, had to go back to the old place for freezer stuff I remembered I forgot...got home at 11:45. I realized getting out of the car that I could barely stand. I was shaky, couldn't muster the energy to keep my mouth from hanging open, so exhausted I couldn't walk or see right. I'd gotten to bed at 3a.m. and up at 7, and the night before I got 5 hours of sleep, and the night before...I hadn't eaten for twelve hours (and that was Taco Bell), I hadn't had water to drink, I'd been doing physical activity I'm unaccustomed to. This is all a predictable consequence of moving, working part time, full-time school, being in a band, and my three-day-a-week field placement. I knew it would be like this when I set it all up; if anything I'm surprised it all happened on schedule, and relatively smoothly with more help than I expected.
But I was so depleted last night and still had a car to unload. I started listlessly dragging shit in, barely able to negotiate the stairs to the porch. Finally, I pinched my finger moving the microwave and started to SOB. I cried and cried, face in my hands, leaning on the car door to hold me up. I was there probably a seven or ten minutes when roommate S came out to go to a show and found me. She asked if I needed help, and I sobbed this little "yeah"...she was so great. Rubbed my back, hugged me, reminded me to me breathe, helped my get under control enough to tell her I was ok, just wrung out. She gave me very clear directions like I was a little kid -- go inside, drink a glass of water and eat a piece of pizza, sit down, I will finish these boxes. I did and I am so grateful to her. I think my electrolytes were all out of whack, I was so dehydrated that I sobbed hard without much tears, I was ready to fall down from sleep deprivation, just DONE.
But I took a bath in my GLORIOUS bathtub, put on Dead Can Dance and low light and bath salts and lavender, sang to the goddess and blessed myself, welcomed myself home. This truly feels like home, it's wonderful. It feels so, so safe, neighbors and all. I know I'm blessed and lucky. Thank Big Mama for healing tears and my hard-won ability to accept help.