3athletejen

Did you hear the wind blowing through Kansas City on Monday morning? That was actually my sigh of relief. The moving is done. (We laughed. We cried. It was better than Cats.) Actually, it was as bad as moving always seems to be, regardless of the preparation. Moving is like a false-flat, for any cyclists that read this. You do the heavy lifting, drive, unload, return the truck, drink a beer and breathe a sigh of relief. Then you look around the new digs and realize all the unpacking and furniture placement that must takes place and the relief dissipates. So let's just chalk it up to a long couple weeks. Moving always makes me nostalgic about the place I'm leaving. I love my house. (As a rental, it's still technically mine.) It was the only real estate I ever owned by myself. It was a little shoebox refuge where I honed my house upkeep capabilities - oftentimes with help - and learned to be okay with being alone. As my mood turned mopey about leaving Ash Drive, Boyfriend tri

Here's how the impending move is going. Boyfriend is purging. I am merging. You can see the rub. I have stuff. Boyfriend has stuff. We have to stuff the stuff under one roof. We are no longer young-ens that move lightly. Our middle age accumulation is evident in the number of moving boxes at my house and the items that must be removed from his house. It's tons of fun. Remember the wagon wheel coffee table scene from "When Harry Met Sally"? Those conversations are simmering on the horizon. (To be fair, his coffee table is actually fine and will go in our newly rented storage unit.) Fortunately, Boyfriend realizes he has to make concessions. Many of them will be made this weekend while he's out of town. (Less painful.) It could have been worse. I had a dumpster scheduled to be dropped off in his driveway, but canceled after realizing my inability to lift by myself many of the items that need to go. Lucky man. So maybe the picture is confusing, but it should be docu