Moving makes you a crazy person. Even though we downsized immensely when we moved last time, and kept our possessions down to a minimum (with one closet, it’s not really a choice), there seemed to be stuff coming out of my ears. Spilling everywhere. But isn’t that always how it goes? You throw away all of the random junk you didn’t even know was there and you don’t need, or you give it away, and still – mountains of stuff.
We hired movers and I have never seen men move so fast and carry so many things before in my life. I marveled at them. What took them 4.5 hours would have taken us 2 weeks of tedious lugging up and down stairs and hating our lives and each other. Movers – worth every penny.
And I’m amazed how much we’ve unpacked. Instead of living among boxes and telling ourselves, “we really need to unpack … we really need to unpack,” we only have this room of stuff left to sort and put together.
And then on Monday morning, after lifting and pushing and hanging and organizing and bubble wrapping all weekend, I had an early morning dentist appointment in the city. Where I found out I had 4-5 cavities. WHAT?! I’ve had 1 cavity my whole life and it was because I was wearing an expander and had metal bands wrapped around my back moalers that I couldn’t reach since I was 9!! And then he said that one cavity was so bad I might have to have a root canal eventually. WHAT!! I was crushed. My teeth! They’re fucking with me. I managed to not cry or freak out while in the dentist chair, even though the panic was mounting. Even when I was scheduling 4 different dentist appointments. I waited until I was walking back to the car and called Kamel. At first I couldn’t speak because I was too busy crying and he thought someone had died or the car had been stolen. Nope, just my chompers. Just a long weekend, and a long week ahead with teeth that have gone rogue.
Wackadoo. Everything has gone topsy turvy. Being in a new place is a bit disorienting. Things are not where I thought they would be. I haven’t got my groove in the kitchen yet, having to look in multiple drawers and cupboards to find things. I’m no longer sure about commute times, and there’s lots of exploring around the neighborhood to do.
Last night I was woken at 1030 (while Kamel was reading next to me) to police pounding on our neighbors door. What did I do next? Well, scramble out of bed and spy through the peep hole of course! Turns out one group of neighbors had called the cops on another group of neighbors because of noise. Noise that hadn’t caused us any complaints. I didn’t even hear it. Kamel said that dude was playing classical a little loud? He could hear it but only faintly. He did hear the other neighbors complaining about it though.
We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto. A week ago we would lie awake while our neighbors played Yahtzee at 11:00 pm clack-clack-clacking and talking loudly with their windows open, making it sound like they were shaking a rattler right in my face. But did we cause a fuss, ask them to be quiet, or god forbid call the cops?! I wouldn’t even think about it. It’s part of apartment living. Or maybe we’ve just put up with too much? But what I know for certain is that the cops woke me up and the music didn’t.
So. We’ve decided two things.
1) my teeth need to be slapped around. I’ve started swishing with ACT per the dentist’s suggestion and I’m going to very much reduce my candy (ahem) consumption (womp womp).
2) I think we like the music loving neighbors better than the cop calling ones.