A couple of weekends ago, I moved out of my apartment.((Yes, the apartment complex I talked about in Monday’s post. They were a trainwreck…but that’s a story for a different post.))
That’s not where this story begins though.
I’ve moved…fourteen times((I think I’m counting right here. It’s somewhere between 14 and 17, so I’m going to shoot for the lower end of this range just to be safe))…since I turned 9. Until the apartment pictured above, I had not lived at a single address for longer than two and a half years consecutively during that time. It’s not a fun experience. A combination of family financial struggles, college moves, work moves, family financial struggles a second time (and probably a third time), packing up boxes to hold all my stuff happened far too frequently. This isn’t taking into account the fact that every summer I had to pack up 2-3 weeks worth of clothes so that I could((extremely reluctantly)) stay at my mom’s.
There are two terrible parts of moving in my mind — packing and cleaning. Many people add a third item in the form of the actual act of moving out to that list, however I consider that to be a very small annoyance compared to the other items. The act of packing up anything and everything you have in order to move is a depressing action. Sure, you’re going somewhere else, however the motivation factor of packing your stuff drops drastically when you realize what comes after.
Cleaning is a wretched task under nearly any circumstance, but even more so when it comes to moving. I’ve yet to find an apartment complex that thinks a normal human being’s cleaning skills are acceptable for moving out. Instead, hours upon hours must be spent washing walls, shampooing carpets, and scrubbing floors. I spent nearly 15 hours cleaning my apartment in Arizona((I’d like to thank my fiancée for all the cleaning she did at this apartment when I moved this time. I would have gone insane otherwise.)) before I moved out, only for the apartment complex to keep over half of my deposit because apparently shampooing my carpets twice wasn’t adequate.
Cleaning is dumb. Cleaning gives me anxiety. Cleaning while moving adds an additional level of dread to the whole ordeal. Why would anyone with any level of sanity want to remove the traces of themselves from the closest thing they’ve had to stability in a long time?
There are certainly advantages to moving. In this particular case, I moved in order to begin staying with the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I moved the small amount of stuff I own in order to get us settled prior to our wedding. I even got to put up my Seahawks pennant for the first time.
I’m excited for this new portion of life. Let’s just hope that once we get settled, the moving — and the cleaning — comes to a much lower volume than I’m used to.