Dear Brain,
I know, there’s a paper due tomorrow that needs work.
I know, it was just a really long day.
But could stay alert enough to get off at your proper bus stop,
so your body doesn’t have to walk back two bus stops
in the dark
at 9:30 p.m.?
Thanks.
Sincerely yours,
Jessica
No, I will not shut up about moving yet, because I am absolutely floored by how much this move took/is taking out of me.
First, a little bit about my beloved boyfriend and I.
To put it plainly, he is the frog of the relationship, and I am the toad.
So our multitudes of discussions regarding this move went a little like this:
Toad: But, what about this potentially awful thing that might happen? What if it’s not even worth it to move?
Frog: That will not happen. Our new apartment will be sweet, the moving process will be free of complication and fairly cheap.
And, because I am a Toad who also works very hard to be more flexible and optimistic in her major relationship, I believed him.
When the move became more and more complicated, expensive, and difficult, my Frog was worn down. On Official Moving Day, I had to take the god forsaken 39 bus through standstill traffic all the way into school to work for a few hours. I hightailed it home quickly afterward, only to be kicked off my train and left to walk in the 95 degree heat, with sleep deprivation behind me and the prospect of unpacking all of my crap into a shared apartment space ahead.
Lance awaited me. “Remember when you were all upset last week and said we need to get rid of half of our stuff?” he asked. “Yeah, we’re doing that. Which boxes should I throw out now?”
This move was enough to break even the Froggiest of Frogs.
Whenever I talk about moving to Boston, the phrase “the worst day of my life” comes out of my mouth without any hesitation. A year ago, I let my Frog talk me into leaving Michigan at 2 in the morning instead of waiting until daylight hours. We made it to the first rest stop on the Ohio Turnpike before said Frog started falling asleep at the wheel. We dozed together for a few hours in the front of a very small pickup truck, and I woke up repeatedly with my heart throbbing in my chest, dreaming that someone in the rest stop parking lot was stealing all of our earthly belongings from behind us. After another nap, a little rain, tolls, hills, hundreds of miles traveled at 55 mph, and Red Sox traffic, we met our realtor in Boston and proceeded to move all of our belongings up three flights of stairs. It was after midnight when we finished.
However, when we woke up the next day, life hadn’t quite started. Getting there was the hardest part. This time around, life didn’t stand still for a few weeks while we got our bearings. Lance returned to school the next morning, picking up his first week of teaching where he left it. I reported for work at Job #1 at 9 a.m., and clocked out of Job #2 at 9 p.m., and classes started the next day.
Truth: I didn’t even have time to take a shower.
My brain did not enjoy this. My mental fog didn’t clear until about 2 p.m. on Thursday.
My body liked it even less. Excedrin. Sore muscles. Stress stomach.
It was like everything in my life vanished on Wednesday. It’s coming back slowly, in pieces, but unfortunately, grad school waits for no woman.
Papers. Readings. Articles. Oh, my!
Things I Have Learned While Moving
1. Don’t move.
2. You REALLY don’t want to move in Boston.
3. You really REALLY don’t want to move in Boston on September 1st.
4. Your current apartment will want you out of your place on August 31st, so they can clean. Your new apartment will not let you move in until 1 p.m. on the 1st, so they can clean. Raise your hand if you would rather have that $130 for the moving van and $100 for a hotel room than that probably-not-that-much-cleaner apartment?
5. Things you can give away for free on Craigslist within 12 hours:
– parts of a broken hookah
– those Emergen-c packets you hate, the ones that taste like your tongue is decaying with every sip
– 3 jigsaw puzzles
– that deck of novelty drinking game cards you had two sets of from your Christmas stockings
– an air conditioner
6. We are, obviously, pack rats. Lance worse than I. He’s the one that wouldn’t let me throw away the silly package of bar cards.
7. Lance, however, is not as sentimental about his beloved soup pot as I once thought. We broke its lid in a freak accident months ago, and it is now time to say goodbye.
8. Moving is a fugue state. I used to feel this way about exam week in undergrad: it sucked, because I had to take exams and study and it was stressful, but I didn’t have to go to classes, most of my exams lasted less than an hour, my work schedule was different. So even though it wasn’t exactly fun, I did get to do things like sleep in, study leisurely with ample breaks for playing Super Nintendo emulators on my computer, go out with friends.
This week, my job is Move. It is stressful, and it sucks, but when I’m not actively packing or making plans or running errands, I really have not much to do.
And instead of fretting over what to cook each day, we decided to take our grocery money and use it to eat out when we want. The cost won’t be terribly more than our grocery spending, and it’s just more convenient. I have eaten Qdoba twice this week and had my favorite sandwich from my favorite sandwich place. So more fun, too.
It’s a mixed bag.
9. Due to #4, you will have to abandon all of your frozen and refrigerated goods. Please, dear movers, acknowledge this reality months before your move, and do not allow your chronically optimistic boyfriend to delude you until it’s too late to eat all of your frozen goodies.
10. You can pack an entire box of your own belongings without making a visual dent in the amount of crap left in your apartment. Actually, you can keep packing boxes with the same effect, for at least 15 boxes, most likely more. I’ll keep you posted.
11. Moving Day Suckitude does not necessarily decrease with the distance of the move. Yes, it would be hard to beat a 24 hour, sleeping at rest stops, move in at eleven p.m. by yourself up three flights of stairs…. but given #4 and the complications of… oh… having to go to work the morning after and go to work and class on Friday? Well, this one could take the cake.
12. I am no longer infatuated with a new apartment. Any new apartment.
13. Unless it has over 1000 square feet of space
14. And a spare room.
15. And a pantry.
16. And central air.
17. Or a gym!
18. I’m going to bed…
19. Being homeless for 5 hours means your favorite animal is homeless as well. Options include hunting for a cat babysitter (who doesn’t OWN a cat because your cat is mean and antisocial), leaving your cat in an potentially overheated car, or buying a cat leash and taking her to the park all day.
20. You will have to call Comcast, which is usually a lengthy, tedious experience. You will inevitably speak to the least informed customer service representatives employed by this corporation, including those with minimal communication skills and those who think that it is simply impossible to install internet and cable before September 10th, no matter what.
You may also end up with a land line. For some reason.
21. If don’t buy proper groceries and only buy a case of beer, your snacks start to look a little strange.
Apple, chunk of cheese…. beer.
Peach, crackers…. beer.
Blueberry yogurt, tomato slices… beer.
But it’s Sam Summer, so you should really just roll with it.
And who said you had to pack sober, anyway?
I live in one of the most walkable cities in the US, a city that also boasts a slightly unreliable but mostly efficient public transportation system,
and I miss my car.
A lot.
I am that spoiled.
What’s worse is that I’ve never been a big driving person to begin with. I delayed getting my driver’s license in high school, and even after I did, I was the friend who everyone offered to pick up or drop off, because if they didn’t offer, I’d find some sneaky way to ask.
Also, I drove a 1983 Oldsmobile Omega that had a bad habit of losing the will to drive while idling at red lights and then refusing to restart for an hour or so. That might have had something to do with it.
And I didn’t buy my own car until I was almost 21, and I pretty much HAD to find one so I could get from my apartment to my classes. If I had moved to Appian Way rather than Deerfield Village, I wouldn’t have bothered.
But driving freely around the state and the country for 3.5 years really ruined me.
I miss NPR.
I miss buying drinks at gas station stores.
I miss blasting music and singing at the top of my lungs.
I miss having an extra sweater or hairband or pair of shoes or 75 cents stuffed in between the seats.
I miss road trips.
But most of all…
I miss being able to manage my extreme forgetfulness with a quick U-turn,
because on days such as today,
when I got up at 6 a.m.
so I could go to Starbucks for a few hours and work on a paper at my leisure,
and realize once my dear darling boyfriend has dropped me off,
that both the book upon which my paper should be written,
AND the extensive lunch I delicately packed, full of healthful snacks to get me from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m.
were both still in my apartment,
that U-Turn could have come in handy.
Alas, alack,
I am stuck
watching trains pull up and pull away at Brookline Village, waiting for one empty enough for one-more-person to squeeze on
(third time’s the charm!),
procrastinating on my homework, despite my best intentions,
and spending 10 dollars
at the lousy salad bar
again.
Car, I miss you. I hope to see you again, someday, in Auto Salvage Heaven.
Yesterday was the last day of my internship.
My last unpaid assignment: write up the flap copy for a book of Egyptian Myths. That is code for “Summarize Egyptian History in about 150 words.”
Fun! But the editors also took me out to lunch, and on my way out the door, handed me a Judy Moody tote bag full of brand new books and goodies. And since it was the last day of my internship, and my last day hanging out in Somerville, I picked up some overpriced but nonetheless completely necessary treats and headed home.
Of course, because of this detour, I ended up on the super-crowded 5 p.m. trains. Carrying a bag stuffed with the lunch I packed but didn’t eat, Judy Moody, and carefully balancing a bakery box while I teetered and tottered on the Green Line.
And of course, all that unbalanced, weight-bearing standing gave me one of those obnoxious headaches that just don’t go away.
You know, the headache that starts in that spot between your neck and shoulder muscles, climbs up behind your ear, clamps down your jaw down tight, makes one side of your nose start to run for no reason, and makes you kind of dizzy, kind of nauseous.
Wait, you mean I’m the only person on the planet who has these bizarro symptoms?
You’re kidding me.
So I spent the night stricken, in bed, reading the same Brazen Careerist articles I’ve read two, three times before. The ones about how you can’t control your biological clock, how you can’t put off your family dreams to nurture your career, how it is impossible to balance life and career goals without letting something go… while alternately scowling at my Facebook newsfeed for rubbing engagements and weddings and it’s-a-boys in my face…
and then alternately remembering that I’m only 25 and my boyfriend will come in and kiss me goodnight as soon as I flip off the light and that many people would probably enjoy this life that I consider to be so miserable so often.
Emotional and physical sabotage, keeping myself from oh, packing for this trip to Michigan that begins tomorrow… or packing up my apartment for a move that will occur less than a week after we are back to Boston.
And I’m sick right now, thinking about all that Lance has to do today. I don’t even want to get into details, but it involves visiting Southbridge, Lowell, Brockton, and Dedham, and the RMV.
And waiting for a package. Which, if you don’t live in Boston, let me tell YOU… this is probably the worst part of the day and will probably involve strings of expletives delivered to those who answer the phone at UPS and/or FedEx.
I just had to stop writing and call him, just now, because all this is freaking me out so much.
This also could have something to do with the fact that breakfast this morning was half a rootbeer float cupcake, 2 slices of sugary cinnamon raisin toast, a Doubleshot in a can, and 2 Excedrins.
*twitch*
At this point, I can’t even see past the next 5 minutes. What is going on? I’m going where? When? And I’m going to be in the car for how long? And I’m going to be in Michigan with my family with nothing to do for how many days? And I have to attend a costume party on Saturday and dress up like what??
Michigan is a gorgeous state, with Great Lakes, small lakes, sand dunes, islands, forests, and other beauties of nature.
However, the only landscapes I regularly gazed upon were those alongside Interstates 94, 127, and 69.
It’s a shame, because for some reason, living in New England inspires guests and locals to seek out similar natural beauties, and now I’m becoming biased.
Michigan was beautiful.
I’m sure of it.
But nobody ever came from out of town to make me look at it.
Coming closer to a year living in Boston, a year post-move, and I am feeling waves of urgency pulling me here to write some things about it, about my life now, about my life before, about this crazy, crazy year of my life.
But then I can’t decide what to write.
For now, a poorly told anecdote. Showing is better than telling. Just take this story and multiply it by my life.
On Sunday night, I turned off the light for bed and moaned until Lance came in the room to see what my problem was. “What is your problem?” he asked. I told him I didn’t know if I should get up early or sleep in. I told him I didn’t want to go to sleep because I wasn’t tired and I’d just have to wake up again. I told him I didn’t want to go to my internship.
“I thought you liked your internship,” he said. “Why don’t you want to go?’
“Because I have to wake up.” I said. “And get dressed. And make food. And then eat it.”
He laughed at me.
I did go to sleep and I did wake up. There was a note on the TV. It said: “Wake me up before you leave I have something to ask you.”
So I did. In his underwear, half asleep, Lance explained this hare-brained scheme to buy a car in Plymouth, Massachusetts, and not just any car, but THE EXACT SAME CAR WE HAVE only with 30,000 less miles and a blue paint job.
Being that I didn’t know we were LOOKING for a car, I continued to make food, go to Somerville, eat my food, and come home.
I walked in the door more than prepared to be tired. Lance was waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Look what I got today!”
It wasn’t a blue Saturn, but a window air conditioning unit half the size of our four-door sedan, blocking all the sunlight and leaving a gaping opening in the window where my cat might find a deathly escape.
“We already have one of those.” I pointed to the bedroom.
“It was free!” he said. “I drove twenty miles to go get it. It was really heavy. But I can’t plug it in! I have to go to Home Depot and get an adapter. I’m going to sell it. I think I’ll make some espresso now, so I won’t stay up so late again tonight. Where should I put this air conditioner?
“Ummm… I HAVE NO IDEA!”
Not everything changes in a year.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Boston, Massachusetts
Jamaica Plain
On the last official day of vacation,
I decided to go to work.
(ahem)
But then I took to the T home at noon, and found myself at the Sam Adams Brewing Company, taking my third brewery tour in twelve months.
Tour number two for those two guys.
I didn’t have time for lunch, except for a quarter of an Ula’s sandwich, shoved in my mouth while we walked across the brewery complex.
This resulted in the following consquences:
Me being tipsy at 1 p.m. resulted in a few more consequences:
Which one did I buy?
And to round out a Vacation-In-My-Own-Neighborhood, I ate my favorite sandwich at City Feed & Supply, and then had a drink and played Scrabble at the Brendan Behan Pub, aka “The Dog Bar.”
No dogs were sighted.
The next day,
vacation was over.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Gloucester, Massachusetts
Whale Watching Tour
You guys ever heard of Groupon?
Oh, you guys.
I Grouponed some tickets for a four-hour whale watching tour, 25 bucks a head.
We drove madly through Boston to make our appointment,
and by 1:00, we were on board,
and cans of beer were only 2.75! Who knew?
How many whales would we see?
We took bets.
Lance said 3.
Frank said 4.
I said 7.
We saw like, 20.
But first, we saw a fin.
The tour lady said it was a floating flat sunfish or something. Common to the area.
But she was wrong.
IT WAS A SHARK!
Oh. Snap.
It was so much fun.