MOVING DAY HELL

Early last October, when I was in the initial process of moving from Texas to Tennessee, I promised that I'd eventually write about all my adventures en route.

Three months later, it seems like a hundred years have passed. I have a new home in TN. Texas is already a faded memory. My moving adventures no longer seem potent or pertinent.

 I now have a new blog. A few of my faithful Blogger friends have stayed with me. Others, however, have moved on. How quickly they forget...... I seem to have fewer readers than I previously did.

In keeping with my promise I've finally decided to write about some of my moving adventures (or, more aptly, misadventures).


Moving day. Wednesday, October 8.
A chaotic ordeal that I only remember in fragments. Thanks to the constantly conflicting messages from my realtors, I initially didn't know what to believe.

"Your house is sold."
"Your house isn't sold."
"We're not sure if your house is sold."

Their past incompetence gave me no reason to believe them now. I wasn't about to start packing until I was absolutely certain the house was sold.
 By the time certainty was absolute, I had less than a week to pack: a large house, two storage sheds, a very large storage room, and an attic. And I was doing everything entirely alone.

Adding to my anxiety was the fact that the people who bought my house were extremely anxious to move in. While I was in the fledgling process of packing, they were already bringing truckloads of stuff to my house - -which seriously compounded my confusion. Then they came by with food to cram into my two refrigerators.

They also made numerous impromptu visits along with the realtors- - which greatly subtracted from my valuable packing time. I did everything possible to control my temper. I didn't want to blow it, when I was so close to getting the hell out of there.

For five frenzied days and nights I worked incessantly - with very little food and almost no sleep. By moving day I was so physically and mentally exhausted that my mind was numb, actually frozen.

The night before moving day was beyond belief. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did.

I suddenly noticed that my car had a flat tire. I panicked. I still had a full night of packing to do, but the car had to be out of the way in the morning so the movers could have access to the driveway.

It was already after sunset and there were no lights near my car. I quickly and haphazardly tried to change the flat in the dark. I'd been successfully changing flats since I was eighteen and didn't think anything could go wrong.

Things went dreadfully wrong. As soon as I removed the tire the jack slipped and the car crashed down on its axle.

My panic instantly elevated to new dimensions. My old cell phone wasn't working. My landline was disconnected. Nothing could save me now but Divine Intervention.

Divine Intervention came via the people who bought my house. For some inexplicable reason, they happened to be driving by.

With the help of the Mexican man (who couldn't speak a word of English) and an hour of frantic manipulations, we were able to get the car up on a block of wood and put on a temporary tire. I gave him $100 for his help.

I didn't go to sleep that night - I packed until dawn. The movers showed up very early, before 7:30. If the next seven hours weren't absolute hell, they were a very reasonable facsimile.

First off, the movers informed me that they wouldn't take anything that wasn't packed in a box. I had securely tied all of my hardbound books into bundles. These efforts were staunchly rejected. For the next hour I was frantically packing books into boxes.

The number of things I was forced to leave behind is astounding:
two vacuum cleaners, three TV sets (I'm not kidding), my electric keyboard, a brand new lawn mower, an oversized Jean Miro lithograph, my entire record collection. My father's antique safe (it was empty). A large lamp that was especially made for my parents in 1963 by a renowned Los Angeles artist. It had a gold antique finish with a bas relief of swans.

In truth, I was so frickin' tired and disgusted that I didn't give a royal shit about my possessions.

After packing books for an hour, I had to get a new tire for my car. Then I had to get a vehicle state inspection, which I had forgotten to do a month before. After that I went to the bank to get a cashiers check for the movers and close my account.

Naturally, the movers refused to accept a cashiers check, so I returned to the bank to get a certified check. WTF is the difference?

As soon as the movers left, I hurried to City Hall to close my utility account. The unfriendly lady informed me that I couldn't close my account until I brought the new owners of the house to City Hall to confirm the fact that I was actually moving.

Was she out of her frigging mind?? I was beyond trying to be congenial.

"In your dreams, bitch!" I mumbled and stormed out. I never did close my account and, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

At this point, my only goal was to get out of Texas alive. I went back to my (former) house to get my three cats. I had them in two large cages. Scratch, my big 8 yr. old cat, was housed in a cage by herself. The two little guys, Scruffy and Bosco, shared a cage.
I crammed the cages in the back seat of my car.

At exactly 3:00 p.m. I got in the car with my trio of felines and began the 100 mile drive north to Amarillo.

This blog post was longer than expected but I had a lot to tell. The excitement is FAR from over.
Just wait until I get to Arkansas.........