I have moved.
I am now officially a resident of Nyack, New York. So is my cat. She seems to be content.
In a sense, I am too.
The actual move was like passing a gallstone. Due to my illness Thursday, I was left with Friday to do pretty much everything. If it wasn't for the Time Warner guy buzzing my doorbell at 9AM, I might have overslept the whole morning. As it was, I was out and about at a decent hour, shipping a box of belongings home to Mom and Dad, mailing three other boxes of things to various locations, returning some stuff I'd bought, dropping off some donations... pant, pant, pant... by the time it was dark, I'd not packed any further, and after all that effort to reduce the pile of stuff that needed to be packed, well, I scarcely noticed a difference.
I busted my ass trying to pack more, but the boyfriend showed up at 6:30 and groaned. I felt awful. "I'm sorry honey... we've got a long night ahead of us."
"I was really hoping to avoid this," He said.
"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. We can do it though!"
I continued shoving things in boxes and bags, and he began disassembling my furniture. Everything seemed to take forever. I dithered far too long over what to do with this or that thing. Baby just worked with the hammer and pliers. As soon as he got the bookshelves in the hallway reduced to boards, he suggested we grab a quick McBite. I figured it must be about 6pm. "Sounds great," I said.
It was actually after 8PM. We inhaled our calories and got right back into it. It was slow, arduous, backbreaking work. We drank tea and water the whole time, and barely spoke two words to each other all night. Hours passed in silence.
At 4AM, that man was still disassembling my furniture, and I was still sorting things to be packed, things to be donated, things to be given away, and things to be trashed, shoving them in boxes or garbage bags accordingly.
At about 5AM, he laid down for a quick nap, and I worked more industriously than ever.
At about 6AM, I joined him. Just an hour's sleep, I said to myself. I have to meet the movers at 8, so I'll need to leave at 7 or so. I changed into some clean clothes, and napped.
I made it to the Chelsea U-Haul with a few minutes to spare. I stopped for a McDonald's Sausage Biscut with Egg, feeling guilty that my baby wasn't likely eating anything at all. There was plenty of tea in the house, and other snacky things, but I felt guilty snarfing down that great on the subway. I felt guilty for not being able to better pack, for making him stay up all night after a long hard day at work. I felt guilty for being the first woman he has ever shacked up with. I felt guilty for a lot of things, knowing that I really shouldn't. The dark side began to show, the side of me that still feels after all these years of therapy that I am a burden to a healthy man, that I don't really deserve him. After 23 hours without sleep, and coming off a difficult week... the old fears crept in.
The Mover was a few minutes late. The fatigue started to set in. My knees were buckling. I was glad I hadn't drank any dehydrating coffee. I leaned against a pile of boxes, feeling myself slide into the "What the hell am I doing?" cesspool of doubt and remorse. My boyfriend shouldn't have had to do all this. I should have prepared better. We should have...
My cell phone rang, jangling me out of my stupor. My Mover!
Around the pile of boxes came the hottest young man I'd seen offstage in a while. "I'm Hayden," he introduced himself, and shook my hand strongly. About five-foot-ten, fair, sandy haired, white nose and cheeks rosy from the cold and a toothy grin to put Tom Cruise to shame. The same wiry, muscley build as my boyfriend. I suddenly felt wide awake. "You're a lot younger than I thought you'd be," I quipped, somewhat nervously.
This kid hopped behind the wheel of that truck and steered up to my place. "About how long have you been schlepping people's stuff around the city?" I asked him. "About three years," he said. I smoothed my hair and wondered if my boyfriend was awake.
He was awake, and trying to put on a happy face. Not too long after I showed up with Hayden and the truck, in the door walks my second mover, Elias. No kidding. Their names were Hayden and Elias. Hayden is an actor and Elias is a bass player. Damn. I mean DAMN.
Elias was taller, and more solidly built, like a football player. Darker hair and suntanned skin. He has little glasses that you have to really look hard at his face to notice, which is a pleasure to do. A very slight resemblance to Christian Slater, but sweeter. Both of these guys have the sweetest, friendliest, most amiable personalities ever. At 9AM on a Saturday, lifting large heavy pieces of furniture. I am amazed. I hugged my boyfriend in sheer gratitude.
Here I am in this apartment on no sleep, watching these three gorgeous, funny, jovial young men lifting and carrying... Wow. I made some coffee for myself and tried to look as though I wasn't enjoying this so much.
They finally loaded everything I could direct them to load into the truck. For all my stress and embarrassment over the pathetically disorganized state of my things, I felt comfortable and able to coordinate things. My boyfriend, utterly exhausted and irritated with me for bungholing him into losing a night's sleep, appreciated the guy's fantastic attitudes as much as I did. They probably kept him from killing me.
I'll skip the rest of this gory story and just say that Hayden and Elias can lift anything like it's nothing, and their overwhelmingly good moods made my whole experience just that much easier. My boyfriend tipped them well, and we all shook hands and went on our way. My belongings are now safely stowed in a 10x5 storage space.
Well, the big ones are.
Sweetie and I knew we'd have to return to the apartment on Sunday to get the rest.