I’ve moved before. Plenty of times. I moved to the United States with my family when I was 11. I went away to college, then moved from dorm to dorm – and then apartment to apartment when I lived in Manhattan. I thought I was a pro at this. But I’m now realizing that I’ve never truly moved as an adult – and that this kind of move (to a different state, with an entire house full of stuff) is a real pain in the ass. I know some of you do this on a regular basis either for work or because your husband is in the military, and I’m awed by your ability to cope with something so disruptive.
I thought I’d need a few days to unpack and settle in and then I’d be free to write all day long. Yeah, right. Here we are, June 11 – nearly two weeks after we came to Florida – and we’re still up to our ears in boxes and to-do lists. This past weekend, we finally got our furniture and moved into our new house. Before that, we were staying with my parents, waiting for the movers to arrive. Did you know that when a moving company promises you (in writing!) 3-5 days, they really mean 8-10? Well, I didn’t. Silly me.
All the logistical stuff is consuming a ridiculous amount of time. I’m writing every free minute that I have, but my free minutes have been virtually nonexistent. I think I’ve been to Walmart at least 10 times in the past week, not to mention Staples and Lowes and dozens of furniture stores . . .
Okay, I’m done complaining for now. On a happier note, I am up to 50,000 words for Close Remembrance, so it is coming along. I’m still not ready to set an official date, but I’m confident that it will be written in time to meet the deadline I set for myself.