A Happy Ending...

I know how the book ends. Trust me. So turn back to that page where your bookmark sits, waiting for you to live the way you were meant to live, savoring every moment.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Moving On

I'm not sure which I dislike more: moving or moving on. Moving sucks. We all know that. You don't realize that you have as much shit as you do until you start having to wrap every little trinket and every dish and put it in a box. Box after box after box you put your whole life into cardboard and step back and look at it and wonder how the hell you acquired so much stuff.

I can't help but think: it's all in boxes and yet I'm able to function these last few days. Do I really need all that stuff? And I'm also a bit of a pack-rat by nature, though not entirely so. And it's hard for me to know what is important to save and what is not. I think about the few things my mother saved from her childhood and her teenage years and I've LOVED those things. What do I have that my daughter (futuristically speaking) would want? What momentos do I want from high school, college, and my first few jobs. I'm terrified of throwing something away that I'll later regret, and yet in all the packing I've found myself throwing a lot of stuff away. There should be a "how-to" guide for moving. Heck, maybe I need one for life right now.

Back to my original point, all sap aside, I hate moving. It's a big sweaty pain in Houston, TX.

There's nothing I'll particularly miss about my apartment. It's tiny. It's on the third floor. I have yet to meet and neighbor and remember what they look like or their name. It's got high ceilings so it costs way too much to keep cool. Really, there is nothing special about this place. And yet, it's mine! When I moved into it, it was the first place I ever paid rent on my own. Moving into it was a triumphant move on my part. I had left the nest once before, but this time it was different. After a difficult few years, it was a move of independence, an emotional move from the nest. And I have loved every minute of living there on my own. I know every nook and cranny. I can reach for the refrigerator door that's missing a handle in the dark and know just where to grab it. My body wakes up just before the train drives by when I have my windows open in the winter. I know to never turn my fan off because the dust will fly all over my bed. Sounds like shit-hole, I know, but it's my place. And now I am leaving it.

And then there's my job. I'm not particularly attached to the work that I do, although I have enjoyed it for the most part. And I don't have an emotional attachment to the majority of the people at my office. And the ones I do, I already know that we're only a phone call away. And I hate the building I work in. It's a meatlocker most days, until the AC goes out, which it does frequently, and then it's flaming hot. And yet, as I walk through the halls in these last days, I get sad. I'm such a sentimental thing, I can't imagine not coming here everyday. I can't imagine not seeing these familiar faces. I'm also training a couple of new people on different aspects of my job, and it's hard for some reason. You want to think that you aren't so replaceable, but I know we all are. One particular woman I am training doesn't seem to want me to teach her anything - like "I can figure this out on my own" and that is frustrating. When I came in, I HAD to teach myself and trust me, it wasn't fun. They've purposely brought her in early so that I can work with her, and I already feel like "out with the old, in with the new."

These two small details aside, the one part of this move that is next to impossible is leaving my family. I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it.

I think I shall have to save that for my next post: Moving On, Part II (READ: Not Moving On)

Be well, friends and readers.

2 Comments:

  • At 5:41 PM, Blogger Lauren said…

    Good post, Trishy. When you said, "sounds like a shit-hole, I know" (regarding your apartment), I laughed out loud. Your place was super cute. And you KNOW that my fan blades were way worse off than yours. One of my youth group girls, Emily, helped me clean my house on the day I moved out, and I gladly handed her the duster and pointed to the ceiling fan: "Get to it, little lady." It was hilarious. I'm so mean. ;)

    Anyway, I'm thinking about you a LOT this week. . .I know how it is to say goodbye. And you and I are so much alike, I know you're feeling the same things I was feeling just a short couple of months ago. I still get sappy every once in a while, too. And it's not just the people--it's TEXAS that I miss, too. Changes are rough. I'm so glad you have someone wonderful in your life to move with, though. Here comes another chapter in the life of Trish (and Richie Rich)!

    Love you!

     
  • At 10:45 AM, Blogger sarah said…

    Hey! Good post... so far all of the places I've moved out of have given me a bit of heartsickness to think of the people I'm leaving behind, and the specific memories made in that place. But hey, the memories go with you, and you don't even have to put most of them in a box!

    As for blog templates... go to http://blogger-templates.blogspot.com/ and take a look at them. Copy and paste your link list and any other code you want to keep into Notepad, and then copy and paste the code you want to move to into the Template option in Blogger. It's not that hard. :) Preview often to make sure things are how you want it. If you get in HTML trouble, just discard the changes and start again.

     

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