'twas the night before moving day...

...and all through the house,
all the creatures were stirring,
even the cats' toy mouse.

This afternoon the property manager for my current building and the one we're moving in to (manager is one and the same for both) called to let me know that the other tenants have moved out of the place, so after the painters get in tomorrow morning, we get the keys and can start moving in this weekend!

I'm...I'd say about...3/4 packed, but I haven't even started cleaning yet. This weekend I was going to finish the packing and start the cleaning because we have to be out of our places on Monday. Well, with being able to get into the new place as of tomorrow evening, I guess I can start moving the massive, encroaching piles of boxes over slowly tomorrow and Saturday, but that means that my night off tonight is shot! Instead of just taking it easy and doing some light work, I've been going like a bat out of hell, cleaning and packing. We're moving Etienne, and the large, heavier furniture pieces in on Sunday, and then I'll have Monday morning to clean the old place, and we'll be out before noon.

You know, it's crazy. I moved in on May 1st, and I'll be out on February 28th. Not even a year. Don't get me wrong, this move is a good thing, but I can't help thinking how much I'll miss my cozy little quarters. I know I've only been here a relatively short time, but a lot of things have happened in this little apartment, and I've had some truly meaningful moments here. Relationships started here, and ended here. The cats have found little corners in my little corner apartment and made them their own; Purrball preferred either the window ledge or hiding between the wall and the back of the couch, while Max staked out a spot on the bedroom floor, tucked under a small table, between a chair and the bureau, because it was small, dark, and right beside a heater. We've all made this little place a home. Ah, nostalgia.

Living alone has taught me that I'm quite capable of staying on top of the dishes, but that I still (and clearly always will) suck at keeping my clothes in their places. I'm terrible about cleaning the bathroom, but my hardwood floors were always swept. I've learned that I will sleep through nearly anything, including Etienne coming in at ungawdly early hours of the night and waking me up...actually that's a problem...not the waking up part, the fact that I'm sleeping through someone coming into my apartment. But a few simple security precautions would have taken care of that. All in all, I've mostly learned how to be a big girl in my little apartment. This was my first real stab at living alone, and the cats and I came through mostly to the good. But Life has new adventures in store.

It turns out that Fate has a sense of irony; Etienne and I "lived" together for nearly a month, two summers ago when I was pushed out of the hippie hellhole on Gladstone by bedbugs, and he very kindly and sympathetically took me in. At the time, he was philosophical and called it practice for when he eventually would live with someone...neither of us imagined at the time that it was practice for *us* to live together.

Let's see...damn, there's still plenty of time left tonight to keep working...*sigh*

Back to work.

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Post Script -

Okay, now I'm genuinely puzzled...how is it possible that I may have boxes left over? I moved out here with every box stuffed full...and I did a really efficient job of packing the boxes when I moved from Vancouver...and I've actually acquired more stuff since the move...and I haven't given away enough stuff to cancel out the new stuff...is my apartment defying physics?