Move, Moving, Moved

Saturday night I worked till 5:30, and then stayed up till 5am putting everything I was not taking with me in garbage bags. I drank three 5 hour energy shots. I went through all my clothes, and picked out only the things I was definitely going to wear this summer. I burned 100 of my CDS and threw them out. I packed up 2 boxes of books I can't live without. I started a miscellaneous box, and threw everything of really important sentimental value in there - Sarah the bear, a music box my mother got me when I was 11, a night light my sister got me of the same angel image I had hanging on a little wooden plaque by my bed when I was a baby, and also poster I have hanging in my hallway. It's the only religious image I really love, because I think the guardian angel is a great monster who's either protecting the two stupid little lost children, or leading them to his cave to hold them hostage. I love how gender neutral angels are, like classic rock guitarists from the 80s. And it's just pretty. Very much like the illustrations in my Red Fairy Book. The plaque also went in the box. The poster went in the trash. 2 should be enough to protect me. Don't want people I hook up with to come into my future little garret and think I'm catching God.

Sunday morning I woke up at 8am, and start throwing stuff away again. I pretty much had all the stuff I was taking packed, but I had told people to come over at 3pm to take books, and the price for free books was taking something down to the trash, so I wanted the house to be at least presentable. S. came at 10:30 and moved the couches for me, as well as took down every garbage bag I had waiting to go. Sliced open my finger trying to take these mirrors off the wall that I silly puttied up there 3 years ago. My dad showed up at 12 and got the wardrobe and a bench. Austin came at 1:30 and helped me take down the rest of the furniture. Then he made me go to lunch, because I had pretty much only had two 5 hour energy shots and I was starting to feel like I was dead. After lunch, Tara and Trevor showed up and took a bunch of books, and then helped me load my boxes into Carey's car. The pile of crap on the tree lawn was epic - all my furniture, 28 garbage bags, boxes and boxes, a table, mattresses. Every time we put something new on the lawn, immediately a car would pull up and some guy or woman would start going through everything for metal scrap. They were like seagulls. After Tara and Trevor left I started throwing out everything in the kitchen. All my million opened jars of pickles from the fridge. The metric ton of plastic bags saved in the cabinet under the counter. Katie came over and took books. Jeff and his daughter Robyn came and took more books, but there was hardly anything left to throw out at that point. Shannon showed up, took more books, took some pictures of the apartment to show her friend. I loaded up the rest of the car, and took it over to my parents' house. Discovered on my way out that someone had slit open the mattress to take the springs, and left the innards floating around the front yard. Cleaned it up and left. It was around 8. I took THE BEST SHOWER EVER, and laid in bed reading till I passed out at 11.I decided that every paragraph in Steinbeck's Travels with Charley is my favorite paragraph ever. Deliriously texted a few people garbled half asleep nonsense about traveling and fucking.

I woke up today at 7am with my foot completely lame, but crawled/hobbled out of bed to go pick up Carey at the megabus stop downtown. Didn't see her, but saw the bus come and go. Drove around public square looking for her at a bus stop maybe? Finally left. Went to the store, bought kitty litter and got my birth control. Got to the apartment, when she called me to tell me she was there. Turned out her bus rolled in at 9:30. Drove downtown again, got her, dropped her off at the parents' house where she passed out on the couch. Went back to the apartment - freaked out that the garbage guys hadn't picked up all the crap I left out there. They came back later and did it though, thank god. Vacuumed on my hands and knees with the industrial tub vacuum till 1:20, ran to the doctor's so they could read my TB shot and tell me I was dying of tuberculosis and sign my school forms. Ran back over to the house to get Carey. She was still sleeping. Took an hour to eat some lunch and dick around on facebook, then woke her up. Took Chris's vacuum back over to him, after cleaning out 16 gallons worth of cat hair from it (not an exaggeration). Decided that the vacuum's name is Thelma and I'm in love with it. Took Carey to the apartment, grabbed my bike, the computers, and the cat. Held Eddie on my lap as Carey drove back the house, she was purring and freaked out and looking all around with her big green eyes. Got to the house, unloaded my stuff, left Eddie in the car so she could go home with Carey to Akron. Cried a little. Spent an hour at the house waiting for Dad to get home so I could take his car back over to the apartment to clean. Got back to the apartment at 7:30. Paul and Jimmy came over - took a ton more books, and a stereo. I took an energy pill, turned up the Belle and Sebastian, and cleaned like a maniac for hours. I cleaned the tub, the bathroom shelves, the sink, the toilet, washed the floor, cleaned the stove, the refrigerator, the counter tops, bagged up 6 bags of clothes to go to goodwill. Found 5 vintage pieces that no longer fit me, but I can't bear to throw out, so they came back with me and they will just have to fit me by the end of the summer. 11:45pm, decided to go home. Set up my work computer so I'll be good to start work again tomorrow from the dining room table.

So there you go...still left: I've got one laundry basket of stuff to bring over here still, and a printer, and a box of CDs I didn't get a chance to burn yet. Carey is coming up Wednesday to take bookshelves and my desk. I also have to take the clothes to Goodwill and donate the remaining books somewhere. AND THAT'S IT. I AM FUCKING DONE. I DON'T HAVE TO DO THIS AGAIN. Now I just need to find a job, an apartment, register for classes, make sure my loans are set, my med forms are in, plan my birthday party, and save every bit of money I can for two months. All while only using a bike for transportation and not having any cats to sleep with. BUT I DON'T HAVE TO PICK UP HEAVY BOXES.

I honestly don't think I've gotten more done in 72 hours ever, in my entire lifetime. Like, EXERCISE wise. I did not think I was going to make it. But now it's over.

The only thing is, they always tell you the point of working hard is the sense of accomplishment and pride you will feel at the end. I never feel that. Working really hard at something only ever makes me feel like "oh, okay, that's over". Like, I'm just relieved I can stop working so hard. That's the only emotion I ever have about it. Where did that response go wrong do you think?

But despite having no proper sense of reward for hard work, which comes as a surprise to absolutely no one who really knows me, I did learn two things about myself this weekend. 1) I am not a clean enough person to be allowed to own a cat ever again. 2) I am not allowed to live in a large place all by myself, because I will end up owning way more shit than I ever want to again. I need to be cloistered in one room, always. Oh and 3) I am really really sentimental about everything, and I hate that part of myself the most and I'm going to kill it dead I swear. There will never again be a point in my life where I can't throw everything I care about in one car and take off.