August 25. 2000
The view from the front windows
couches in the living room
the kitchen (nice morning light)
bedroom, with bureau drawers
Dad carrying stuff into the apartment
The crap that came along with moving today actually started the night before. I stayed up too late screwing around on the computer, and by the time I had settled down on the couch in the living room (I had to sleep there because my bed was all packed up), it was almost 1 am. I was starting to doze off when I heard a soft meow and a cat size weight hit my legs. Charcoal then proceeded to crawl all over me, on my legs, on my chest, and next to me, trying to find a comfortable place to lay down. Then he began kneading, his painful little claws digging into me. I should have kicked him off the couch so I could sleep, but I didn't have the heart to, since I wasn't going to see him for god knows how long.
I think I fell asleep at around 1 am, and was woken a scant 4 and a half hours later by my Dad coming downstairs to make coffee. At this point I didn't even attempt to go back to sleep, and went up to take a shower at around quarter of six.
We were all ready to leave on schedule at 7 am. Dad was driving the rented truck, Mom the minivan and I the neon. I got into the neon, and selected Live Through This for the drive down. I slipped the tape in, turned the knob. Nothing. Then I noticed the clock display wasn't on either. I was highly pissed at not having any music, which I voiced loudly for all those in earshot.
I turned out the driveway, and then noticed the Air Bag and E Brake light were. But the E brake wasn't on....
It was then that I realized my turn signals weren't working.
Okay, so one can feasibly drive without a stereo, and even with all the little lights on the dashboard glowing with all their ferocity, but one cannot drive on the PA Turnpike sans turn signals.
Mom was driving behind me, and Dad had already gone ahead of us. I pulled over, got out, nearly hysterical, and yelled at my Mom, "The turn signals aren't working!"
"Okay, you go home and wait there, I'll go and try to catch up with Dad."
So I turned around, by this time crying. I screamed and swore and banged on the steering wheel several times. As I was turning onto my street, everything suddenly started working again. Out of the blue. So I turned around, and decided I'd try to catch up with Mom. This proved to be a difficult task, because to get to the Turnpike, I have to drive through town, and at this point it was the middle of the morning rush hour. I had to catch up with Mom in time so she and Dad wouldn't turn around, go home, and not find me there.
I am normally not a person to have road rage, but by god, it was like some evil force had taken over my body. Any person walking by on the street would have been scared to death if they saw me. I had the window open, was yellling expletives at the cars in front of me, and all the while Courtney Love was trying to drown me out on the stereo. I was crying, banging on the steering wheel and screaming myself hoarse.
To make a long story short, we all found each other at a gas station near the turnpike, Mom and Dad calmed me down, we filled up on gas, and I still have no clue why my car suddenly decided to randomly malfunction after over 5 years of flawless performance.
Other than that, the move went as smooth as silk. We got the key, and slowly began unloading all of my stuff. Getting everything into the apartment only took about 2 hours, although unpacking all the stuff took considerably longer. There was a lot of things that needed assembly, like my computer desk, shelves, kitchen table, etc. Dad had to leave around 3 to take back the truck, which left Mom and me to finish unpacking. My mother worked her usual organizational magic, and we got in some mother-daughter bonding time. We went out to dinner at TGI Friday's, which was appropriately crowded (it being Friday and all), and stuffed outselves with Nachos and Dip, Turkey reubens and a delicious ice cream sundae. We got home, and I finally collapsed from lack of sleep around 12 am.
One Year Ago:
all writings, (c) 1999-2000, BRR