The Plague Diaries: Moving
We spent most of last week packing. We (and by "we," I mean "I") went methodically through the house, packing one room a day. We dismantled electronics systems, threw out old stuff we didn't need, figured out what needed to be left out until the last minute, and more.
In the meantime, I also hired a moving company that turned out to have two gay men as the owners. That was a nice surprise!
Packing, as it always is, turned out to be stressful and difficult. I looked at the growing stacks of boxes with increasing dismay. How would all this stuff fit into the condo? We'd already emptied out the basement and garage, sure, but that still left a hell of a lot of stuff. I became increasingly nervous and irritable and Darwin and I found ourselves arguing more.
At last, Moving Day arrived. The company sent three guys, and they quickly set to work. It took them about two hours to load up the truck.
I said good-bye to the house. It was sad leaving it. This was the first place Darwin and I lived together, and we created a lot of good memories there. I was happier there than I had been in a long time. We were moving a year earlier than we'd intended because of the pandemic, and I felt wrenched away.
I drove ahead of the movers to the condo while Darwin stayed behind at the old house to hand the keys and garage door openers over to the new owner, who was already making plans to paint and install new flooring.
At the condo, I supervised the movers, who gamely hauled everything up to the second floor. "That goes in the living room. Main bedroom, please. Storage closet! Oh--kitchen." Their greatest triumph was moving Darwin's dining room table, which has a solid stone core. I was never so glad to be able to hire someone.
At last everything was in place. Darwin tipped the movers heavily (it was a hot day, and . . . stone table) and they left us in a forest of boxes. We made the beds first--my standard policy during a move, on the grounds that you don't want to reach the end of an exhausting day, only to realize you have no place to sleep yet. Then we dug in.
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In the meantime, I also hired a moving company that turned out to have two gay men as the owners. That was a nice surprise!
Packing, as it always is, turned out to be stressful and difficult. I looked at the growing stacks of boxes with increasing dismay. How would all this stuff fit into the condo? We'd already emptied out the basement and garage, sure, but that still left a hell of a lot of stuff. I became increasingly nervous and irritable and Darwin and I found ourselves arguing more.
At last, Moving Day arrived. The company sent three guys, and they quickly set to work. It took them about two hours to load up the truck.
I said good-bye to the house. It was sad leaving it. This was the first place Darwin and I lived together, and we created a lot of good memories there. I was happier there than I had been in a long time. We were moving a year earlier than we'd intended because of the pandemic, and I felt wrenched away.
I drove ahead of the movers to the condo while Darwin stayed behind at the old house to hand the keys and garage door openers over to the new owner, who was already making plans to paint and install new flooring.
At the condo, I supervised the movers, who gamely hauled everything up to the second floor. "That goes in the living room. Main bedroom, please. Storage closet! Oh--kitchen." Their greatest triumph was moving Darwin's dining room table, which has a solid stone core. I was never so glad to be able to hire someone.
At last everything was in place. Darwin tipped the movers heavily (it was a hot day, and . . . stone table) and they left us in a forest of boxes. We made the beds first--my standard policy during a move, on the grounds that you don't want to reach the end of an exhausting day, only to realize you have no place to sleep yet. Then we dug in.
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