Mysteries of the unknown, again

I’m moving in 15 days and I’m a little worried about how not anxious I am about it.

Arrangements have been made: we have a fantastic moving company lined up, as well as reusable moving boxes that will be delivered next week and picked up at the new place two weeks thereafter. I’ve got time booked off from work, and just enough bath bombs to last the duration of my stay at the old apartment. Although the big work has yet to be done, we’re pretty well sorted.

The packing and the cleaning have to wait, but I still feel like I should be doing something to prepare. There’s also the fact that I know very little about living in a floating home. That’s part of the appeal, of course! I’ve longed to be closer to the water all my life, and soon I’ll be as close to it as I can reasonably get. Oceanfront, my ass! Ocean on!

I longed to live in the city for most of my childhood; I think that’s a natural result of being transplanted from the Lower Mainland (if you’re not from around here, that roughly translates to “Vancouver”) to the middle of the woods at the age of nine. Suffice it to say, the roots didn’t take, and I obsessed over getting back to Vancouver, and 10 years ago I finally did it for real. And now, the concept of trading the hundreds (or thousands; I have no brain for spatial mathematics) of eclectic neighbours for a marina where there are exactly four other households while being a mere bridge crossing away from me beloved East Van is all manner of attractive. I can’t figure out what the catch will be. There’s got to be one, and I can’t think of one, and all my googling has come up with nothing.

Will there be big weird spiders that can talk? Or maybe all floating houses are secretly haunted by angry mermaids? I won’t know for an entire fortnight.

21 days to the ocean

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The countdown to the new house is moving at an alarming pace. As of today, we’ve got 21 days to go. Three puny little weeks.

I haven’t moved in over five years, and those moves don’t count, because I was in my twenties and was mostly moving from one roommate to another. Only one of those moves involved an actual couch. This time, there are multiple couches! More than one bedroom, even! And books: ridiculous quantities of books.

I feel like we should be more frantic about this. I worry that we’re falling terribly behind and the end of the month will a huge disaster. I worry that Max will run away. But I think I’m wrong.

First off, Max loves us and we love him, so he’d be a really dumb cat to run away from that. Hey Max: if you’re reading this, don’t run away. You’re fluffy and adorable, and your new house has a door just for you.

Also, the plans are coming together. We’ve got a moving company lined up. We’re having reusable moving boxes delivered a week before the big day, and I’ve booked time off work. I’m tackling as much cleaning as I can in a non-empty apartment. I think we’re doing pretty well, despite the doubts. I don’t think it would be sane to go through such a major lifestyle change without doubts. Without them, I wouldn’t have attacked the bathroom with a toothbrush yesterday.

In a month, this will all be laughed off over a beer. Right now, a month feels like a really long time.