The movers came to move a bunch of furniture into storage.
I woke up at 5am on Friday and did a few last minute things that could get done to make it easy for them. I felt good. Oh so good. I was so ready for them. There really wasn't anymore I could do to be prepared.
Everything went along swimmingly well. They were FAST!!! and professional. They moved everything out of the apartment in no time. They moved onto the back porch and got the antique stove and potter's wheel. They moved into the garage and got the two pieces of furniture in there out and then they moved on to the old stove and fridge. They were going to load the fridge right into my van for me so that I could take it over to the recycling center (cool).
Here comes my first hurdle of the day:
As they are moving the fridge there is some sort of problem. Vince (the owner of the moving company) looks at me and tells me that there is something dead under the fridge. Apparently something crawled under the fridge and got caught up in the electrical wires under there, couldn't get out and died. I asked if they wanted a bag for it. They declined (darn) and freed whatever it was and left it there in a pile of leaves and insulation. I'll tell you the rest of that story in a few minutes.
We were done here at the house and we all left to go to storage.
Storage, the second hurdle of my day:
I arrive before the movers and open everything up. Waiting, waiting, ah here they come. Vince takes one look at all my boxes and tells me that I packed them in there in the worst way possible (a bit of an ego deflate, I thought that I was doing such a great job). I explained to them that I wanted the furniture packed in such a way as to leave as much room as possible for more stuff to be packed in there (that would be the garage and basement). So these wizards of speed are moving very quickly and as they are about 3/4 of the way done I realize that they have left a ton of open space in the back and I don't have much room at all to pack the rest of my stuff in there. It was dawning on me rather slowly. The realization was on a stealth mission and I was easy prey. As I am paying the movers I am in a fog of trying to think spacious thoughts. They leave. I loose it. I break down in a sobbing huddle in my car. I am crying like a toddler who just had their favorite toy taken away from them.
I screwed up.
I had been more on the ball and used all the time (there was a minimum of time that I had to pay for) and made them rearrange the boxes from the get-go.
Or I had said something when I realized there was a big open space in the back.
Or I had them pack the boxes in and around the furniture as it was being moved in.
Or If only I hadn't paid all that money just to walk away feeling like a complete dope.
I cried. No, I sobbed. I sobbed most of the afternoon. I sobbed myself to sleep.
I sobbed to Michael (who had the great misfortune of calling about an hour after the incident).
I sobbed, hiccuping sobs, on my way to the recycling center and practiced what I was going to say to anyone who saw me. "Don't worry I may be crying but I am OK. Really I am OK."
I'm not as hysterical about it now, just royally bummed out at myself. I blew it, I really blew it.
I am now off my game and things are not moving along with the ease and grace as before. I've called in two terrific girlfriends to help me today to get ready for the painter. Thank goddess I have enough sense to call in the troops for some girl bonding.
My second hurdle:
I spent the whole afternoon sobbing about the storage unit and totally getting my panties in a twist about the dead animal in the garage. I kept thinking that it might be a cat. We have a lot of cats in the neighborhood and they like to crawl into our garage. So, I kept thinking that it might be a cat. I was having a hard time dealing with the thought that I could have possibly participated in killing a cat. After avoiding it for a day. Artie and I made a plan to go out and deal with it. Artie woke up a sick and it didn't work out. I know that I am extremely high strung at the moment and if I went out there by myself and it was a cat I would loose whatever grip on sanity I have. So I did what every good neighbor does, I went across the street to our neighbor's house and talked to John. I sat in his living room. He had just taken a shower and was luxuriously laid out on his recliner. His young son had guests over and they are all stood in the doorway watching their 'trying to keep it together' neighbor explain to John that she needs a friend to come over to her garage and put this dead (Oh goddess if it's a cat!) animal in a bag. They watch her melt into tears as she explains to John that she just can't do this alone because if it is a cat she will loose it and she just needs another human there. John becomes her saviour of the day and they walk past the gawking youngsters to said garage.
IT WAS NOT A CAT.
It was a rat and we got it into the bag without incident. It had been dead at least 6 or 7+ years. So now I don't have to have nightmares about rats in my garage. It probably was in there stuck in the fridge when we bought the house.
Yeah John, thank you John!
My first girlfriend will be here in about an hour. Oh it is so good to have friends.
Girlfriends, guyfriends, understanding husbands, and cat friends.
I gave my cats a special hug yesterday.