Outside the Box

I apologize in advance for the fact that this post may be:

A. disjointed

B. rambling

C. a tiny bit whiny

D. all of the above.

I are still looking for the box in which I packed my brain. I'm crossing my fingers it's not among the many I slid to the back of the guest room closet, thinking "I'll get to this one after the wedding." I'm pretty sure I tucked it alongside my motivation to create anything even vaguely resembling a healthy, home cooked meal and my self-control when it comes to dessert. At the last minute, I believe I went ahead and shoved my patience in at the top, just to keep everything from bouncing around too much. Come to think of it, it's been a long time since I have seen any of those things.... I hope that box made it off the truck.

We are about 95% moved. There are still lots of lingering things rolling like tumbleweeds through the wasteland of our apartment: an old cell phone charger here, a pile of books there, that old flower pot on the porch that sustained the life of a pretty pink geranium for approximately four days sometime last spring. There is still one closet to empty, some laundry (since we don't have a washer/dryer at the new place yet), and a whole lot of cleaning to do. We realized last night that all the alcohol we own is still in the cabinet above the (mostly empty) fridge. I won't go in to the details of what prompted that realization... let's just say it was an exhausting and stressful weekend.

The new house is an elaborate maze of boxes. Mostly unmarked boxes. Mostly boxes with a truly impressive random mix of small kitchen appliances, pillows, holiday decorations, and remote controls. Mostly boxes that take much more concentrated thought to unpack than I seem capable of at this time. Getting ready for work this morning posed several unique challenges: I could not find a single bath towel, the two matching shoes I needed were in two different boxes, and my hairdryer decided to protest the change in scenery by catching on fire. Hard to be too angry about that when I can commiserate pretty well.

It's certainly not a well-kept secret around here that I hate change and don't deal well when my routine is interrupted. By the time I woke up in a different home, much earlier than normal, had to get in the car and drive instead of walking the hundred yards to the gym, worked out on something that was certainly not my beloved elliptical, missed the sunrise because instead of a beautiful gym with huge windows to the pool, I was stuck in a basement gym with old people and a view of the "sunrise" local newscast (which doesn't even feature a sunrise), and drove back home to a towel-less shower, I was missing my old life something fierce. I wanted to go home. Dan gently reminded me that with time, this new normal would become, well, normal. I know that he is probably right, but I'm still a little skeptical. I'm more excited than I should be about going back to the old neighborhood after work tomorrow to clean the apartment and spend some quality time in my gym that feels like a second home.

Luckily, the most fragile member of our family (debatable) has handled the change relatively well. Poor Toby was seriously out of sorts as the apartment gradually emptied -- he watched the boxes fill with wide eyes and got a serious shock when he ventured out of the bedroom and saw his favorite couch being wrestled through the front door. By Sunday morning, as we packed up the first of two large loads of furniture, he had retreated to our bathroom, perching on the side of the tub and peeking around the shower curtain only when we came into the room to grab another box. I was a little concerned that uprooting his life and moving it across town was too traumatic for the poor guy, but he surprised me -- we got him to the new house last night, and after just a little regrouping time under his happily reclaimed couch, he popped out to explore. By bedtime, he was back to his old self, walking around like he owned the place (which, let's face it, he basically does). Clearly I'm the only one here with adjustment issues.

For now, I will keep pushing through the change and the nostalgia for my sun-filled gym. I will keep getting up half an hour earlier, I will keep driving to the new gym every morning, I will keep unpacking my new closet and learning how to cook in my new kitchen, and I will try to let these things become my new routine. And on the days that all the unfamiliar is too overwhelming, I will drive two minutes down to Dunkin' Donuts for an iced coffee to  remind myself that sometimes change comes with a few perks.

   Love,

    Meg