I hate moving. You’d think that since we move about every 3 years, I’d be used to it, but I’m not. I loathe it. It’s my personal hell. Actually it may be purgatory, you don’t know when it will be worse or when it will get better. You’re stuck perpetually in between boxes. Every time I move, I tell myself, no, never again. But that is silly since hubby and I are often moving to advance my career and upward means onward!
This time we moved back to Boston. But it was just 3.5 years ago we moved from Boston to Charlotte. And just 3 months ago, I had moved in with friends, as this job at WHDH was only temporary at the time. So I had some stuff in Arlington, hubby and my stuff in Charlotte, and we needed all of it to make its way to our new apartment in Boston.
We had some great movers, Gentle Giants! But no move is without its kinks. This time, it was timing! With me working (in Boston) and hubby traveling, the giants picked up our stuff in Charlotte on July 23rd. But we couldn’t get into our apartment until August 1st. We needed to paint so they delivered our belongings on the 4th. We also moved from central air, everywhere, to a quaint brownstone without an air conditioner. Of course moving day was one of the hottest, most humid days of the year, so there was a desperate, last minute search for an air conditioner.
In the middle of unpacking I caught myself saying never again! Hubby looked at me. I’m not sure if his stare was in disbelief, exasperation, or surrender.