The Absurdity Of Moving

So far back into the archives of this blog are posts about my move to Boston, my move back from Boston for a summer internship, the move back to Boston again and then back to Fort Worth in the middle of the winter, Dan and I leaving Beantown when there was snow on the ground and the weather was mild once we got into Arkansas.

Today is the recounting of the most recent move, which was from South Fort Worth, near Benbrook, to what I guess would be called West Fort Worth, or about seven miles or so from downtown, just off I-30.

The NYT today ran an article about decorating a place on a shoestring budget that was cool, design-wise, but absurd, dollar-wise. In the story, this couple redid a flat for about $10,300, which made me break out the Only Partially Ironically Used Text Speak in my head. ORLY, NYT? Ten grand is a shoestring budget? Are you fucking kidding me?

Man, if I had that kind of money, I could just get it all in one dollar bills, buy a staple gun, and just wallpaper the apartment in MONEY. Then, when I needed a soda, I'd just pry one off the wall in a place no one would see it, like from behind the microwave in the kitchen.

The move itself wasn't too bad--I took a half day, borrowed the McGraw family truck, and loaded up most of my shit on my own, all Grapes of Wrath style, and drove it to the new place, where I started unpacking it all. Dan came by, helped me unload that, then his friend Jimmy came by. Dan took us all to dinner at a fairly generic by nearby Mexican place, The Original, and thanks to a catering miscount, I walked out with an extra free half of a roasted chicken. Sweet. Food.

Jimmy in his little Toyota accompanied Dan and I and the McGraw truck back to the old apartment, we wrangled up the rest of the stuff and Fenway, and then unloaded everything. I went to turn the AC on, went to buy ice (no ice maker, no ice trays, but really no big deal), and when we went to bed it was late and I couldn't really sleep. My cat took up residence under the bed, because the entire apartmend reeked of cat urine from the last owner--I mean, grody, gross, horrible smell, despite the new carpet. I ended up sleeping on the floor because I was so hot, I was so wound up, I was so sore and was sure my arms might fall off if I rolled over. The next day Dan and I walked across the street to get donuts at Dale's #9, the cable guy came, got that all hooked up, and as the temperature got warmer outside, we realized it wasn't cooling off inside. The AC was broken. The property manager said they couldn't get it fixed until Tuesday because it was Memorial Day weekend. Also said the smell would be addressed later. There was a lot of cursing. My parents told me to go to Wal-Mart and buy some fans with their credit card.

Sunday, it thunderstormed, the ceiling in the bedroom started leaking. Then I lost it and started crying for inexplicable reasons and freaking the fuck out of Dan. We tried scrubbing the kitchen to try to get rid of some of the smell.

Monday, it was fucking hot and I scrubbed walls, thinking maybe I could dent the smell. I stayed in the bedroom most of the day, though, with the fans on, the lights off, and the windows cracked enough to give light for me to read. Fenway moved from under the bed to hiding in the back of the closet. I always had a hunch he was one of teh geighs.

Tuesday, got the AC fixed and was finally able to sleep well for the first time since I moved in. Tuesday night, it thunderstormed again, and my trash can set up under the leak was filled up more.

It's been an eventful move, I guess. I love where my apartment is, I think it's cute and just the right size, but it smells bad and the ceiling leaks. I'm frustrated and smitten all at once, and I can't wait to get more art up on the walls (once I get paid) to help out with the design aspect, which is something I'm all obsessed about, even if I'm no good at it.

Yesterday I also turned in my keys to the old apartment, so I'm officially cut from that, thank goodness. Now I'm just hoping my ceiling doesn't cave in and I don't (God forbid) become used to the smell, because how gross would that be? It's so bad but you get used to it. But then, I guess the woman who lived there before me was used to it. I'm glad to know there's at least one person out there who's definitely crazier than I am.