After about 6 months of casual huting we found a place only a dozen blocks west that blew us away. It's much larger, has an extra room ('the study' -- or so we've named it), a grassy back yard (no shit!), and is a block away from a park. Add to that that our bedroom is no longer facing a street that, on any given night, produced the sounds of fire engines, people screaming or just talking loudly, extremely loud cars, and (our favorite) people riding shopping carts down the hill and you'll understand our excitement.
Yes, all seemed just peachy in the land of the moving until it actually came time to move. For over a week now I've either been packing or unpacking, moving or reorganizing, lifting or putting something down, searching for something I need from amongst the boxes or searching for a place to put what I've just removed from one. I've dislocated my shoulder once, dropped a box of heavy candles on my feet, bloodied a knuckle, and banged my shins on more peices of furniture than I thought I owned.
Then, just when you think it might be over you get to spend a few hours cleaning the hovel of dust in which you've been living for the last 4 years (4 years? dear god am I that old?) which basically consists of sneezing every 3 seconds for an entire day. When you're done with that you get the wonderful stress inducing activity of trying to get your security deposit back -- an activity that has driven many a man to madness.
And I'll confess that so far, the grass is greener over here. I love the new place and am glad to be in it. But screw that part where you have to cross the fence. Moving is now up on my top 5 things of dread:
3. Getting my dental cavities drilled without novocain (as I did last time -- don't ask)
Tonight's conquest: the old apartment - to spackle or not to spackle...