Chronicles of The Move

So because I know everyone is SOOOO interested in my move to Boston, I’ve decided to lay it out for you.  So that, just in case you were considering moving anytime soon, you will see what an awful awful thing it is.

Yesterday I began packing.  I had collected several large boxes from work, but they were all missing panels so I tossed them to the curb.  Fortuntely, I have this awesome friend Chrissy who had a bajillion boxes in her garage.  So I began packing.  Due to extreme exhaustion, I stopped late afternoon and didn’t finish until today, when I arose with the sun and continued the daunting task up packing up my room.

What’s difficult is that I’m not taking EVERYTHING, and not even everything that I eventaully want up there.  I shipped stuff today; I’ll fly with more stuff with me on Monday.  Then in a week or two I’ll be back to get more stuff.  And then some things –like heavy winter necessites– I won’t need to collect from home until around Thanksgiving.  As for outfitting my apartment, I bought some stuff here to ship, I’m ordering some stuff online to have delivered, and then I’ll be buying the majority of stuff once I arrive in Boston.

Needless to say, this ‘phases’ deal is stressful at best.

But today, at last, I was finished packing the things I’m going to ship.  This was the result:

That’s sixteen boxes, for those of you who haven’t quite reached a 1st-grade math level.  Sixteen boxes that I had to lug to the post office and buy postage labels for in batches.  All except the three large ones were purchased, two at a time, at the machine because I prefer not talking to people.  but the last three I had to go to the counter to, and a lovely woman helped me.  She had a breathing apparatus that kind of frightened me, but kudos to her for now letting her . . . need for a breathing apparatus slow her down!

ALSO, I was having to carry boxes from my car basically one to three at a time, and this man came over and said, “Excuse me, I noticed you keep carrying boxes in a couple at a time.  Would you like some help?”  So he and his two sons, perhaps aged eight and fourteen, helped me carry all my boxes in, held the doors, everything.  The dad explained as I thanked him, “Hey, I’m just trying to teach my sons the right way to do things.”

YES, sir, YES TO THAT. 

Oh.  And the total cost to ship all those boxes?  $209.45.  Gag me with a spoon.  And I actually forgot one teeny tiny box  that has my tea set in it.  But I may just find a way to cram that in my bag on Monday anyways.

How do you spell smorgusboard?

Because I feel like it:

MONDAY
Writing Drama 4:00-5:45PM
Workshop Seminar: Nonfiction 6:00-9:45PM

TUESDAY
Philosophy: Ethics as a Civil Engagement 12:00-1:45PM
American Literature 2:00-3:45PM

WEDNESDAY
Writing Drama 4-5:45PM

THURSDAY
Philosophy: Ethics as a Civil Engagement 12:00-1:45PM
American Literature 2:00-3:45

Then I have Fridays off.  But I also have that darn Honors Colloquia crap that I would rather NOT have to deal with, and still don’t actually understand. 

On a completely different note: I’m at Starbucks, and when I handed my partner card over to the charming male Starbucks barista to get my employee discount on my grande soy caramel macchiato, he asked what store I work at.  I’ve learned to say “one in Boston,” because that’s much cooler to a barista in Irving.  He then “took care of my drink,” by not charging me for it.  How pleasant.  Thank you.

And on a further unrelated note that very well may be TMI: What kind of insurance company doesn’t cover ONE SINGLE KIND of birth control for a 20-yr-old female when she needs it for MEDICAL REASONS.  Perhaps if I spent the weekend with said insurance company execs while I am in the midst of my wicked bad PMS and THEY got to experience my mood swinging wrath, they would be a little more willing to pay for a medication that I need.  The issue is not pregnancy: I’ve gone 20 years without getting pregnant and I bet I can keep that up.  The issue is that I cannot afford $40-$57 a month right now.  I guess to get back at them, I could just get pregnant, and then they would be paying for all my prenatal health expenses . . . but for some strange reason I feel as though that revenge plot would backfire horribly . . .

My stomach weighs in

No, this isn’t about my tummy.  Shut up.  Last night, around 10pm, my stomach began to rumble because I had not eaten anything since my late lunch of a spinach salad, tomato basil soup, and a couple cheese quesadilla slices at lunch at Applebee’s . . . and since my charming boyfriend decided to eat leftovers from his own fridge and about blew a gasket when I ate one of his chips . . . what was I to do to fill my belly?  Said boyfriend helpfully offered that I could drive myself to Jack in the Box and buy myself tacos since for the past four days I’ve been craving them.  Well, to be honest, I had already spent a lot of money on lunch and didn’t feel like spending even more money on food when it’s nothing to me whether I eat dinner or not.  Besides, boyfriend had a coupon for a free smoothie that I was hoping to at least get a sip of (foolishly hoping, might I add.)

So mainly because I didn’t feel like spending more than $1.07 –read: one dollar and seven cents — we went to Jack in the Box.  And for that price, I got two of the greasiest tacos I could possibly consume, which consisted simply of a burnt but soggy taco shell, taco meat, soggy lettuce, a teeny tiny bit of cheese, and the packets of hot sauce I poured on them.

And the final decision?  $1.07 well spent. Thank you, Jack in the Box.

I embrace that I am selfish.

And what I mean by that is, I want everyone’s lives to revolve around me.  Not so much in that they have to spend every minute of every day thinking about me, but in that I want them to schedule their jobs and school years around ME.

Case in point being that I don’t like when people start going back to school, because I go back latest of all.  Yes, I realize that at least I’m still going, while many of my friends are stuck here even after I leave.  However, as soon as that first person leaves to head back to school, it’s just like summer deflates right before your eyes.  It’s all downhill from there.  Like so many other times in life, you’ve spent the past three months chugging up the hill of the roller coaster and now you’re racing down; there’s nothing you can do about it until it’s over.

Yesterday my parents and I drove my little brother down to Austin to move him into his dorm room for his first year of college.  It was as exciting and terrifying as I remember: that initial setting out when you’ve never been on your own for an extended period of time.  The fact that your life is still very much monitored, it still feels like you’ve been kicked wholly out of the nest and now have to very quickly develop your wings or crash to the ground.  I remember when Mom and Jerry dropped me off in Boston, after a three day drive out there.  They say, “We’re going,” and there’s this punch in your chest because is it really already that time?

I’m quite happy for my brother, and I think UT is going to be excellent for him.  Most of his good friends are there; his dorm room is awesome; he’ll have a lot of the freedoms that one can’t necessarily have at home.  Howewever, what i don’t like is that when we sat down for dinner last night, there was no chance of him walking through the door.  When I get home late at night, he’s not hanging out in the living room for us to chat while we play with our laptops and watch a crappy movie on tv.  MAYBE/HOPEFULLY I’ll see him for Thanksgiving, but there’s also the strong likelihood that I won’t.  It’s not that I don’t want him going away to college, it’s that i want him to wait until I leave for Boston so that I don’t have this week of him being NOT here.

But I did that to him for two years now, so I guess I can’t really say much.

What I can say is that in most ways, I am very ready to be back in Boston.

So I forgot to write for a while. big surprise.

And i have nothing to write about right now. But I will soon. So sit tight, my pretties.

Alcohol and affairs

Avery and William were cooking in their play kitchen, making spaghetti for me.  William had set it out on the table, and we were all getting ready to eat when Avery suddenly yelled, “Wait!  We need a drink with dinner!” 

I waited, then inquired, “Avery, what kind of drink do we need?”

“Uh . . . orange juice!”

So she got us “orange juice” in our pastel plastic tea cups, and then insisted we “cheers!” with our virgin screwdrivers before partaking. 

Furthermore, the other day when I arrived, I saw a profile for a new nanny had been printed off the computer and left lying carelessly on the counter.  I mean, I realize that I’m leaving for school soon, but STILL.  I felt like they were having an affair and had just left the evidence lying there in broad daylight.  They want me to know.  It’s just a big game to them.  My feelings mean nothing. 

But the kids were MONSTERS during my nine-and-a-half-hours of hard time yesterday, and I was wishing that new nanny profile with the contact number was still lying around . . .