Yesterday I got the keys to the rental. It took a while because the property management rep who was there to “orient me to the property” insisted on reading the binder to me basically word for word while pointing out what he was reading. I wouldn’t have minded so much except this was all going on while my friend was watching my kids and her poor husband was waiting politely in the 90 degree humidity for property orienter dude to finish so he could move in boxes. Finally I just said, “Let’s burn through this. I can read.” My literacy must have reassured him because he really picked it up. Finally, Chris and I started hauling in boxes. I consider myself very strong and fast–for a girl. My physical work ethic is also a great point of pride for me, so it was humbling to be almost triple paced by my helper. I comfort myself that he is literally America’s most deadly weapon, super fit, ex-military guy, but geez.
I had a freak out moving in because the house has Old Spice. You know that indeterminate smell of a house that is a few decades old? Yeah, even through the heavy odor of new synthetic carpet emissions, I could feel the old. The house is almost exactly my age, and I’m a hot mess, so I can only imagine what’s wrong with this place.
The weirdest thing about the house is the torture chamber. I call it that because it is a 10×9′ carpet-on-the-slab room that is only accessible through the unfinished storage room. You tell me what else that place was used for. I thought about using it for timeouts–or at least threatening to use it for time outs, but I think it makes more sense to store the Bali furniture there. Yep, for the first time in a decade we didn’t choose a place around the enormous footprint of the Bali furniture.
Yesterday I started loading boxes into the car at 9am and kept hauling pretty steadily until around 11pm when my muscles started to fail, and I felt like I was in danger of dropping things. Also it was dark, and the woods behind the house were creeping me out.
I’m planning to do the same thing today which means I have 40 minutes to psych myself up by watching either last night’s episode of the Bachelorette or some coverage of the first day of Wimbledon. Ack! Only 35 minutes ! Come on, Bachelorette. Don’t fail me now!