I have a love hate relationship with moving. In the last six years I have moved eight times. Some of those times were uncomplicated in-and-out of dorm room type things, but also included was moving both mine and Husband's apartments into our new place just before our wedding. Without his help because he was having his birthday/bachelor party. Mmhmm.
Recently I have been moving every time my least has been up. It isn't always something I can avoid. Moving in with my new husband was important, and there's not so much you can do when one of your roommates completely loses her mind and moves to South Carolina and you can't really afford the whole place with just three people.
And here we are again. Our lease is up this month, and our roommate decided he wants to move out and live alone for the first time in a long time, and more power to him. But that means we have to leave too. Which is very sad, because I love our place and it would be perfect for a small family with a baby or two, but if we could afford this whole place on our own we wouldn't have been living with roommates for the last two years. And good god do I ever hate searching for rentals. I'm beyond over crappy apartments with crappy beige walls and crappy carpeting and crappy Formica kitchen counters surrounding crappy stove tops and crappy tiny stackable washer/dryer--if they even have laundry at all. Not to mention the crappy teeny weeny bedrooms that barely fit my king size mattress, much less any of my clothing. And ever these crappy places are barely within my crappy budget. Or they won't allow pets. It's too bad I would lose my mind living in a cheaper city.
Still, we have things to look forward to. This will be the first time Husband and I have lived alone since we broke up in 2007, and certainly since we've been married. I have really enjoyed having roommates, but I'm excited for us to really start creating our own family. And I love the purging of stuff that comes along with moving. I've always been a saver, but in the last few years I've been fighting against my impulses to save things that I maybe might need some day. I'm only planning to move the stuff that we really need or want with us, and start off again fresh. I'm excited to redecorate. We have had the same horrible beige IKEA couch since Husband moved to Seattle, and it is ugly and lumpy and has been spilled upon and stained and torn up be cats. It'll probably have to come with us, but I plan to replace it as soon as possible.
We looked at a place the other night and I am in love. It's imperfect, of course, but it has all the intangibles that make me happy, and anyone who knows me knows that my living space can greatly affect my mood. Husband picked up the application documents today... My heart is in my teeth and I am so anxious to apply and be accepted and pay our deposit and get to packing and I fear something will go horribly wrong even though there is no reason for me to think that. At the same time I have already completely planned where all of the furniture will go and what coffee table I am going to buy (this one, if you're interested), and I'm already plotting what sort of baked goods I will bring when I introduce myself to my new neighbors with a beautiful baby... I always get like this when I move. Or when I plan anything. I am a daydreamer, for sure. Please cross your fingers for me. I promise if good things happen for us I will post a zillion pictures and a detailed description and what-have-you, but right now I feel like putting my ridiculous plans into words might jinx it.