I am calling this place my permanent home because, after two weeks of miserable moving, I have decided that I am never moving again.
The Ex and I purchased a brand new townhouse and arranged to be out of our old apartment by the middle of this month. We had budgeted money to hire movers, but somehow, in a fit of delirious stupidity, decided we could do it all ourselves. Before you think to yourself, “Okay, that’s sounds reasonable,” let me inform you that I am quite petite. And while I am strong for my size, there is a limit to how well a 5’2 female can carry couches up multiple flights of stairs.
My Ex is a good foot taller than I and he is naturally pretty strong. However, my Ex has recently been diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and tires very, very quickly. So of course, him moving all our furniture was a great idea, right? Clearly.
The end result of this fiasco was that I took a week off work and, after moving everything from our apartment to our new townhouse, both of us are too exhausted to unpack anything. (We had a fight this morning over who had to get up and take Gavin to school. I lost, but not before throwing my cell phone at my Ex’s sleeping body.) I am currently living in a sea of boxes and, if history is any indicator, it is how I plan to stay for quite some time.
Oh, and we’re supposed to be having Thanksgiving here tomorrow, despite the fact that our refridgerator was not delivered and we have no clue where our plates are. I am thinking to serve my guests pizza, which would admittedly be a very gourmet change from all the fast food burgers we’ve been eating lately. Seriously, I am beginning to think my Ex is filming a new version of Super-Size Me and just hasn’t told me.
Anyway, enough complaining. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I truly have a lot to be thankful for. More than anything, I am thankful for my precocious, loving son – who woke me up with kisses this morning – and my wonderful Ex, who must have the patience of a saint.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!