Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Kristen's Horrible, Terrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

You thought I was finished whining about moving already? Oh please! I am a cham--peen whiner so I haved barely touched the tip of the iceberg (although I will be trying to make a concerted effort after this post to "get over it already" since I don't want to bore the one blog reader I have left these days).

Today was move-in day. This is never a happy day but today was worst than most.

I woke up with a migraine (so I didn't get my scheduled run in--and I'll be on a plane tomorrow so it won't happen then either).

I couldn't make the beds from D.'s apartment here fit in R.'s room so it looks like I'll be getting rid of them. Nevermind that we sweated our butts off yesterday in 98 degree weather to move them from the apartment to the house.

Only a couple of hours or so into unloading the van, one of the guys dropped and broke the base of the beautiful cradle that my grandfather made for me when I was born. Yes, if you, my one reader, are paying attention, you'll note that the other obviously broken item so far (give me time to find more in the boxes) was also made by my grandfather. Why is it that the cheap, who-cares-about-it items always survive unscathed and the vitally important and precious to your mental health stuff is the stuff that takes a beating? Since I can't be funny about this, you can probably tell that I. Am. Not. Happy.

As time went on and more stuff came into the house, it was becoming increasingly obvious that our furniture doesn't fit in this house. Have I mentioned: I. Am. Not. Happy? I took to just having them stash everything in the basement or the master bedroom. Should make the next two weeks unpleasantly maze-like for D. as he has to sleep in one of the two places while I retreat north again to the relative peace and happiness of the cottage. Of course, as he is the one who has made me move (see, I'm still in the bitterness phase of the moving stages), it will serve him right!

The movers took it upon themselves to set up the beds in each of the bedrooms with no regard to where I wanted them so we've had to completely re-arrange the furniture already. In the process, I smashed the snot out of one of my fingers. Given the size of the divot in the nail, I'll be lucky if it doesn't turn black and fall off. Of course, the toenail I blackened last year running in the half marathon has never fallen off so perhaps it will look like an obscure fashion statement: one black toenail and one black fingernail. If we were still in Detroit, perhaps I could claim it as a gang affiliation and finally get some respect.

I haven't even had the courage to look in the basement since I suspect that it is floor to ceiling boxes with small islands of furniture interspersed. It will be one obnoxious task unpacking all of it, let me tell you. On the plus side, I am bringing my 80+ (she'd be mad if I gave you her actual age) year old grandmother home with me from up north and will put her to work sorting it all out for me. Ok, not really but since she will be staying in the basement, I'll have to get to it sooner rather than later or risk having her disappear forever in there (she's always been directionally disfunctional). Maybe a GPS would help, although if she's as bad as I am at telling her right from her left, having a disembodied voice tell her to turn right would probably be more disconcerting than anything! I'd drop bread crumbs but I think the fat dog would make short work of that. And for a map, I'd have to wade in there first to chart it. Looks like I'll either have to unpack or stand and call to her until she makes her way out of the mess. (And if you know me well, unpacking isn't the likeliest option.)

And just to prove that no day is totally a lost cause (although this one comes closer than most lately), the house in Detroit did actually close so we no longer own a piece of the imploding real estate market that is Detroit. Couldn't end on a better note.

1 comment:

  1. Well, congratulations on selling the Detroit place. A thin silver grain in the thundercloud of moving.

    My movers first claimed they didn't know how to put the beds back together, and when I said, "I'm sure you can figure it out" they used the tiny nails to put together the bunk bed and the bunk bed's huge strong nails to attach the thin slats to the cheap guest bed. I found this out when my nephew cut his foot open on the protruding 3" nails. Oh well, the bunk bed hasn't collapsed yet; those tiny tacks seem to be doing just fine.


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