I forgot how much moving sucks. The first time I moved, it was three states and 5 hours away and involved selling a house and just about everything I owned. I was ok with it. Also, was ready to go from that place to my new adventure. One year later, only moved across town.
Fast Forward, five years later...
I'm leaving an apartment I've grown to like and the city I've called home for six years. I'm not even going far away, maybe 30 minutes West of here, but in terms of living conditions...30 minute drive, 10 year time warp. My job has shifted me to a new location and since I haven't found another that I like better, I'm going along with their evil plan. I can't afford my rent and the extra gas it would cost to go back and forth every day, so I'm resigned to leaving my fair city.
As I type this, I'm sitting in a favored bakery/cafe in the artsy section of the city and I can't really believe that I won't be fifteen minutes away anymore. My living room is full to critical mass with boxes and bins. The walls are bare and my things are piled here and there.
I'm not coping very well.
I'm binge-eating, although what I call "binge" is definitely less than it was a year ago. I considered taking up drinking, but I've never been a drinker. I find myself grouching at people who are only trying to help me and I'm unable to speak to my beloved husband without becoming Bride of Chucky. I know everyone is being so good to me, being helpful and nice and everything and me, I feel like I'm strung up on wires.
It's not fun.
I'm sorry for the pity-post, my friends, I promise to do better soon. Right now, I'm just gob-smacked by the fact that I am unexpectedly very sad to be leaving the place that has become my home. I didn't see this coming. But then, do we ever, really?
Right now, it's a rainy Sunday and the late-night crowds are coming in. I'm going to leave you for now to try to work on some projects.
Here's to silver light in dark of night.
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