This is our last Wednesday as non-homeowners. From here on out Wednesdays will take on a whole new meaning. Instead of being the day we eat dinner while watching a new West Wing, from now on Wednesdays will be the day we eat dinner while watching West Wing while ALSO doing laundry in OUR OWN HOUSE. I’m really looking forward to that. My OCD is going to thrive.
A week from today we’ll be moving. A week! The thought still boggles my mind. All that hunting, all the finicking, has led up to a point that’s just 168 hours away. Which, if I start packing now, means that at an hour per box, I can just finish packing by the time of acquisition.
Actually, that’s a little misleading. While we do take possession next Wednesday, we’re not really moving until the weekend afterwards. Even though we appear to be mature, responsible adults who have enough financial stability to invest in a house (sweet holy Moses), the truth is we’re still not at the point in our lives where we can hire movers. A not-too-small part of this is that I feel that moving is one of the only times I get a really healthy workout, and I’m not ready to give that up. I can never stand the tedium of gym workouts long enough to get anything substantial done; with moving, I feel the strenuousness has a point, and I’m able to do it all day. And—here’s the sick part—I enjoy it.
Most people hate the actual move, right? It’s supposed to be one of the most stressful things you can do. (Right behind public speaking and right in front of asking Katie in the 9th grade to Homecoming.) Yet strangely, I’m always the first to volunteer to help my friends when they move. I’ve moved so many of my friends since college, I think people are starting to believe my story about going to moving school. I can’t tell you where this came from (said the son of a professional organizer), but I dig it. I’m not ashamed to say it: moving is fun.
Which is why, if we were to employ movers next week, we’d be passing up the opportunity of a lifetime. All those freinds’ moves have earned me a fat wad of favors to cash in on, and next weekend, we plan to turn in all those tickets at once. This is clearly the last chance we’ll have to organize a DIY moving operation; four or five years from now, it’ll just be embarrassing to try to ask our friends to help. Having lots of people will be win-win of course: less work for me, and less work for all my helpers. Somewhere, a high school econ teacher is smiling.
All of which leads me to believe that our Moving Day will see the following three things take place: 1. Breaking of the land speed record for boxes moved per hour, 2. A happy crew of movers devouring a stack of pizzas (motto: “The Official Food of Moving Day”) from The Penguin in our box-strewn living room, and 3. Plenty of hours left over for me to wash all my clothes. Twice.