I can't believe it.
I hate moving. So much so that I haven't done it in something like 13 years. I always swore that the next time I moved would be the last time. This move is not going to be the last one, probably the second-to-last.
With the kids out of the house (well, mostly, but that's a whole other story), it doesn't make sense to continue to live in the dump we've been in. Not when we can move back into the very nice apartment RCC had when we first met for about half of what we're paying now. We'll save enough money that we can actually, you know, save money for property. We can travel and buy stuff. It's gonna kind of be like winning the Lotto.
When the kids were little, we moved every year when our lease was up until we moved into this house. I used to be able to pack up and move in about 48 hours, just because there wasn't a whole lot of stuff to move.
Thirteen years in the same place? A whole shit ton of stuff. And it all has to be packed. And down-sized to fit into our much smaller apartment. What have I gotten myself into?
RCC and I worked on packing the kitchen a couple of weeks ago and will finish it up this weekend, leaving out only the pots and pans we must have to live for the next two weeks. I'm going to dive into cleaning out the closets, bathroom and spare bedroom.
Digger and All-American have to get their asses in gear to get the basement packed up, because they don't get to stay once RCC and I move out - they're going to have to grow up and find an apartment of their own. Again, a whole other story.
I can hardly breathe with plastic tubs stacked everywhere and boxes underfoot. But I'll get through and will be so happy to be in our new place, that I won't even mind the increased commute. To be fair, though, my commute would increase no matter where we moved, as currently we only live 1.5 miles from work.