Ye Olde Moving Day

Yesterday was sorrrrrt of a rough day for me. I ended up moving into my apartment on Sunday instead of Saturday, thanks to a slight delay in the arrival of my belongings in Massachusetts from Seattle. Once my stuff arrived and my father and I packed it all into his truck/trailer in Western Mass, it was a completely law-abiding pace the entire drive east to the Boston-area. One can never drive too carefully when there's a demi-precarious trailer full of my entire life bouncing around behind one's truck.

Once in Medford, my rock star of a father helped me move everything as only dads can, while my new roommate and her boyfriend both also earn co-MVPs for helping me move in ALL of my things without my even asking them to!! Seriously, so nice of them.

The big hiccup in the move-in was when several tenants in the apartment building took turns yelling (no, really, yelling) at me because apparently a) one of the two elevators was broken that day, and b) there is a rule against moving in on Sundays. Of course, if I'd known that, we certainly wouldn't have been bogarting the sole elevator for 20 minutes or moving in that day - I'm not an asshole, as you guys hopefully have picked up on - but they were livid. LIV-ID. No amount of my apologizing calmed them. In fact, we've even been promised a fine for our misdeeds. So... Welcome to the building, Bail! Ugh. Apparently there are a lot of rules in this apartment building that I need to study.

... But the reason that I think everyone is so serious around here is because this building is pretty freaking nice. There's a gorgeous lobby, a community party room that can be rented out by tenants, a pool, and even a little gym. My apartment unit has a balcony, a washer/dryer, hardwood floors in the main area, and I even get my own bathroom. (Oh, and the apt also comes with a seemingly very nice roommate with an equally kind boyfriend.)

After my dad left (which, I was told later, he did NOT want to do), I spent the rest of the evening opening boxes and slowly putting things away. Between the symbolic (dramatic) drive east to Boston, getting yelled at by strangers, and unpacking alone in a room that's now just my bedroom... not gonna lie, I cried more than a few times. In fact, for most of the day I was feeling like little more than a helpless, emotional clusterfuck.

But as the hours went by and my belongings became less and less scattered around the room, breathing became a little bit easier. I started to notice how rather pleasant the steady rush of traffic sounded, down in front of my building on the parkway. Then as it became darker outside and I readied myself for bed, I could hear crickets begin to chirp from the nearby river banks.

It wasn't the most brilliant series of pleasant thoughts of all time or anything... but they helped me end the night with a little more peace of mind than I'd had all day.

FACEBOOK TWITTER PINTEREST INSTAGRAM