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In which we moved and I cried.

Honestly, I didn’t cry at first. I really didn’t. I was actually kind of excited — a new place means, to me, new adventures, and I love a good adventure. Also, I make friends everywhere I go. Now that I’m an adult, I know that about myself: everyone likes me. (Unless they don’t, in which case they’re assholes anyway.) My default behavior for meeting someone new is excited and friendly, and most people respond pretty well to that. Too well in fact (see my blog about the woman who told me all about the dead bloodied rat in her freezer, all the while I smiled and nodded and thought, “Wow, this is going to make a great blog someday.”)

My Chemical Romance proffered his resignation on a Monday; he accepted a position on a Wednesday, and we moved a week later. The movers were slower than the prophet who is “allegedly” returning. They packed up a box. They took a break and smoked a few cigarettes. They packed up another box. They went to McDonald’s. They packed another box. I was unimpressed.

I cried when we ate our last meal in Charlotte (Firehouse Subs, delicious!) with Little Miss Popular and Nice-Nice, and as I drove away I sobbed. I sobbed for about an hour, then snarfled and sniffled for another hour, then we arrived in our city and checked into a hotel and I tossed and turned for a few hours and then we went to our new house.

We’re renting a house that we had only seen on the internet. Although it looked fine on the ‘net, and it’s actually a great house for my family. No carpet to stain. Made in the ’80s so it’s pretty sturdy, compared to our last house (which we still own and hope to rent out). Most of the living area is downstairs, and it’s very open, which I like a LOT better. But it’s 200sf smaller than our old house and the garage is much tinier, and therefore it’s covered in boxes. I want to park in the garage, and My Chemical Romance has promised me that by September 1, I’ll be in the garage. I think he’s being very optimistic.

This move is stressful on all of us. I held it together nicely on the first day — in which our FABULOUS new neighbor was unbelievably kind and made us dinner and happens to have a girl the same age as The Informant and a baby the same age as Porcelain. I could not have planned it better. Also, the lots here are the size of postage stamps, so she’s like 6 small steps away. Perfect.

Saturday, I tried to rally and unpack a little. My Chemical romance was helpful. We re-arranged things a little bit. My FABULOUS new neighbor helped me organize my room. We unpacked a little. I went to Trader Joe’s and spend My Chemical Romance’s future first paycheck on enough food for a while. I felt okay.

Sunday was the day things fell apart. Nice-Nice and Mary F. Poppins drove up to see me and when I saw them I started to lose my mind. I was so happy to see them and yet so sad because I now live so far away from them. I actually felt physically ill; my body was aching and I thought I might be getting the flu. They stepped in and unpacked and organized and FOLDED LAUNDRY (find me another mom of five young children who folds laundry, because I don’t believe it) and talked to me and nursed Porcelain and brought me my placenta from the freezer of my house (we forgot to pack all the contents of the fridge and freezer, like geniuses). And I cried. I cried and cried. Then, we were leaving to go out to dinner, I realized I’d left about 300 ounces of frozen breastmilk in my car for 24 hours and it had all thawed, I totally lost my mind.

I ended up sobbing hysterically on the floor of my kitchen, while Nice-Nice fed me klonopin. God bless Klonopin.

to be continued…

2 Responses

  1. “God bless Klonopin.”


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