Moving Sucks.

I am sitting here at my computer, surrounded by half empty boxes, miraculously on the internet because mine hasn't transferred yet. I have spent all weekend either preparing to move, moving, or unpacking. Everything about moving is unpleasant. The packing was o.k. at first, because it is kind of therapeutic. You go through your old stuff, find things you haven't seen in forever, and my favorite- let go of the things of the past. You get to a point where you realize that bottle cap from high school that belonged to your first boyfriend's beer one night just really doesn't carry it's weight anymore. And why in the hell have I schlepped crap like that around with me for the last 10 years? Literal baggage. I can barely remember what that kid looked like, yet somehow up until now, junk like that seemed worth lugging around with me. Besides the fact, he was a total moron. My mother can probably attest to that, and gladly : )
So anyway, needless to say, I made a few trips to the dumpster. But after a while, you just get so sick of seeing stuff around you that has managed to evade a box somehow.
Then you move onto the actual "moving" phase, where your stuff is paraded in public for the whole world to see. By the time you actually get the boxes and furniture into the apartment, you are tired enough as it is. Then, the unpacking phase begins. At first this seems fun too-everything has a new place to reside. You get to re-organize your life. Then you run out of drawers and you still have like TEN fricken boxes that are still fool of junk that you wish you had just thrown away so you don't have to find a place to put it. The house goes from feeling organized to cluttered again, and you are so sick of looking at your own belongings that you want to go stay in a hotel to get away from your own stuff. That is kind of how I am feeling right now. The worst part is that all those boxes you tracked down so you could save money are now yours and you have to lug them back out of your life.
But it is evened out by the new apartment. This place I have moved into feels like home, and it's a good thing because I don't think I will ever move again. Just getting off the couch leaves me at a 45 degree angle like a shriveled old lady. I definitely didn't lift with my legs.
On a side note, poor Isabelle is so confused. I feel badly that I can't explain where we are...every time I go to leave she follows me to the door like she's terrified to be alone, and she's ready to go home to the old apartment. I know she'll get used to it, but it's still sad.... or she may just be upset that it's all hardwood, and she will have to figure out a new way to torture me.