July 8, 2013 by kmwelden
Moving, I think, is my perfect hell. If someone were to ask me, “Hey, Kaitlyn, do you want to relocate all of your belongings across the country or run ten miles across the desert in dead of summer?” I would pick the running in the desert, every time. And y’all… I hate to run. But there’s just something about moving that appeals to everything I despise inside. I hate carrying heavy things. I hate putting things in boxes. I hate walking up stairs. I hate putting things away. I hate making decisions about where things should go. I hate deciding which of my treasures I have to throw away.
IKEA gives me anxiety and heart palpitations and thousand dollar charges on my debit card. I drop things on my feet. I put the furniture together backwards, multiple times.There’s nowhere to sit, because the couch and bed haven’t been delivered yet. The air mattress I slept on last night is offensive. Sleeping is for pure comfort. Air mattresses are for camping. Only weirdos go camping. Weirdos who have no regard for their personal comfort, at that. I can’t relate.
At any rate, the moving experience leaves a lot to be desired. Some of it, though, I wouldn’t trade for anything.
The day we moved in, Andrew ordered delivery Chinese for our first meal in the new apartment (If you know either one of us in even a tangental way, you aren’t surprised by this. Chinese food > most people). We sat- though sitting might be a generous term for the pathetic ways we were collapsed across the floor in exhaustion- in the middle of the basically empty living room (not much stuff fits in the back of a Honda Fit) and ate with the only utensils we could scrounge up– an ice cream scoop and a tablespoon.
The only thing I had on the forefront of my mind was tablespooning as much rice into my mouth as humanely possible, whilst also making swift work of an egg roll in my free hand, and then immediately taking a nap on the wood floor, but I couldn’t help but look up and survey what was going on. The image I had of the two of us in that moment: looking like we hadn’t slept or showered in weeks, criss-cross applesauce across from another on a bare floor, sitting in dead silence and scooping up food like madmen with our unconventional utensils… I couldn’t help but laugh. And then Andrew looked up and started laughing too. I couldn’t help but think that these are the moments from our first days in Denver that I’ll remember. These are the moments that I’m going to treasure always. I’ll conveniently forget the sweating and stressing and all of the times my patience almost snapped in half. The annoyances will fade, and I’ll remember this: the two of us, laughing the whole way through our first meal in our first place in a brand new city. And that will always make me smile.
….but I’ll still be really happy when we have furniture. And forks.