Harry Potter never had to do a large-scale move. He'd have given up to Voldemort if he had.
You guys, moving sucks.
I knew this the day I moved into my Freshman dorm, now over 7 years ago. The temperature was over 100, my mother was going through hot flashes, and my roommate and I were determined to have the best room on campus. We totally accomplished our mission; people came from dorms far and wide to see our color-coordinated curtains, bedspread, and TV stand; they oohed and ahhed about our futon, but was it worth it? The sweating, the pain, was it worth it?
I knew again that moving sucked the day my boyfriend and I moved in together. It was, again, over 100 degrees. All of my stuff had been in a storage unit for 2 months; his was on the second floor of a house where the water and electricity had been cut off. At one point, I thought he threw something at me, and in a fit of rage, I turned around and just lost it on him. I had to stand on a step just to yell in his face; he's 6'5". It turned out he didn't throw anything at me. Our friend showed up to help us; we call that "The Day Brandon Saved Our Relationship."
The past move out of my apartment, just mere weeks ago, ended at 5 a.m., at which point, boyfriend and I stayed at a Super 8 for two days until we could drive home. Again, it was hot as hell.
And now, I go forth again into this outstandingly awful abyss. Thursday, I must move into my first "I'm a grown up and I will go to work from here apartment." I have some lovely, wonderful friends who are going to help me out, but this is still going to be terrible. I hate moving. I hate it.
So. This is just a post about my hate for moving. Because I hate it.
I knew this the day I moved into my Freshman dorm, now over 7 years ago. The temperature was over 100, my mother was going through hot flashes, and my roommate and I were determined to have the best room on campus. We totally accomplished our mission; people came from dorms far and wide to see our color-coordinated curtains, bedspread, and TV stand; they oohed and ahhed about our futon, but was it worth it? The sweating, the pain, was it worth it?
I knew again that moving sucked the day my boyfriend and I moved in together. It was, again, over 100 degrees. All of my stuff had been in a storage unit for 2 months; his was on the second floor of a house where the water and electricity had been cut off. At one point, I thought he threw something at me, and in a fit of rage, I turned around and just lost it on him. I had to stand on a step just to yell in his face; he's 6'5". It turned out he didn't throw anything at me. Our friend showed up to help us; we call that "The Day Brandon Saved Our Relationship."
The past move out of my apartment, just mere weeks ago, ended at 5 a.m., at which point, boyfriend and I stayed at a Super 8 for two days until we could drive home. Again, it was hot as hell.
And now, I go forth again into this outstandingly awful abyss. Thursday, I must move into my first "I'm a grown up and I will go to work from here apartment." I have some lovely, wonderful friends who are going to help me out, but this is still going to be terrible. I hate moving. I hate it.
So. This is just a post about my hate for moving. Because I hate it.