Moving is the Worst.

We moved last weekend, and due to a lying, thieving internet service provider, we were without internet for the first week we lived here. Which actually wasn’t THAT bad because we spent time unpacking instead of power bingeing Netflix. Regardless, moving is pretty much the worst. What a great way to  be confronted with the reality that you’re drowning in garbage that you really only use once a year. Like why do we have not 4, not 5, but SIX HDMI cables? How many does one household REALLY need? Perhaps if we needed to fashion some kind of HDMI rope to hang all our electronics with. It’s entropy and it’s completely taking over.

Shit

ANYWAY. I also started a new job the very Monday after we moved, in childcare, which requires a bit of planning and prep work like a teacher, so I’ve spent the entire week spinning in circles in my kitchen because where the fuck did I put my keys? Why though is my cell phone in the kitchen cupboard? For someone who is as aggressively anal as myself, having absolutely none of my shit together makes my inner autism come out. (The same inner autism that comes out when I try to brave Costco on a Sunday night when all the housewives descend en-masse, zombie walking to the organic coconut oil) Thus, my first week of work was spent apologizing and thanking my coworkers when I constantly forget to do shit. Lord save me. Jesus? Judas? Who do I ask? Do I have to take a number? Everything is so confusing.

Moving was horrifying for several reasons including a traumatic, overly ridiculous episode of trying to set up my own utilities because I thought I was a big girl and could do it on my own. Which resulted in me speaking to four different representatives from an energy company and me yelling into my phone while actively trying not to swear because then they hang up on you. I also made an attempt to set up the internet which also blew up in my face causing me to legitimately question my own mental faculties. Which obviously ended up with me getting into a fight with the husband that went a little something like this:

Me: “I think I fucked up ordering the internet.”
Husband: “Really?”
Me: “Yeah and apparently I can’t do fucking anything.”
Husband: “I’m not in the mood to deal with this right now”
Me: “YOU COULD SHOW A LITTLE FUCKING EMPATHY WHEN SOMETHING OBVIOUSLY DEEPLY UPSETS ME.”

You get it. We’re tired, and have spent all week working to get the house in a semi-functional shape while both working full-time jobs and me trying to squeeze in 10 minutes to draw an awkward avocado hitting on another avocado. Priorities people.

But after 7 very dark, internet-less days, we finally got internet today. It’s over, and we’ve made it out the other side. When a movie comes out about my adversity going without internet for a week, Jessica Alba can play me.

So I just thought I should quickly check in to make sure that you’re still alive, roll yourself over or you’ll get bedsores. Take out the garbage, you filthy animal. I love you fuckers.

Love

 

4 thoughts on “Moving is the Worst.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s