We are not good at ‘life’ at the best of times.
At the worst of times, we’re frankly appalling.
And this reality is perhaps most evident when it comes to the business of moving house (lol, apartment, obviously).
We’d forgotten how bad we were. Much like childbirth, it seems that our minds erase the trauma and pain so eventually we do it again.
There’s the 104 car trips, where you can hear god knows what breaking in the back seat. And the part where you have to relocate your f*cking forks and pots and pans and bowls and I still have absolutely no idea HOW YOU ARE BEST MEANT TO DO THAT. And the part where you try to manoeuvre a coffee table downstairs and there’s three other people in the lift and you a little bit hit them and you’re so sorry but mostly exhausted.
What happened this weekend was the worst experience of either of our lives 0/10 would not recommend.
Here is our diary…
Thursday night: Some boxes are filled with things, but realistically, we are not at all ready to move tomorrow. “Can’t really do much ’til the last minute,” we say to each other while eating snacks and watching The Bachelor finale.
6am – Our alarm goes off. It’s very funny because would never get up at 6am, for anything. We guiltlessly continue to sleep and dream about a day where we’re not moving.
8.15am – We slept through about 14 alarms. We’re stressed, but have a surprising lack of regret. We discuss how important it is to do a number of important jobs before the removalists get here. Number one on the agenda is to remove whatever is living in the fridge. It smells and no one will admit to putting it there. We both discuss perhaps… leaving the fridge and making it someone else’s problem.
8.30am – Our teeth are brushed, and we’re dressed in our active wear. There is no time to deal with fridge as we have to meet the agent and sign the lease.
POST CONTINUES BELOW: The five secrets of a clean house person.
8.45am – We have a significant fight in the car, where we blame each other, but then midway through the fight, decide to just blame the third housemate – Rory. We throw around words like, “How did it get to this point, how are we so disorganised, why are we so incompetent etc.” and then decide there’s no point in dwelling on the past because time only moves forward.
9.00am – We’re at the real estate office. We realise we look like we woke up 45 minutes ago, but we try to appear competent and capable in front of the real estate agent who is wearing a suit.
9.01am – Agent says he hasn’t received the bond yet, probably because we forgot to pay it. He can’t give us keys until we’ve paid bond which seems… reasonable. We need keys, otherwise we’re homeless.
9.02am – We momentarily freak out about whether we physically have enough money to pay bond. Third housemate pays, but his Internet isn’t really working so it takes him 10 minutes. Eventually he transfers the money to the wrong account and at this stage the real estate agent just wants us out of his office so gives us keys.
9.10am – Agent explains rental contract. We’re not listening. We’re ready to sign anything. Any issues will be tomorrow Clare and Jessie’s problem.
9.15am – We’re on the verge of tears, and then realise we haven’t actually done anything yet. We use hyperbolic terms like ‘panic attack’ even though we know this whole thing is precisely 100 per cent our fault.
9.30am - We get back to the apartment and the removalists are already there. We try and gauge whether or not they are judgy removalists, because we know there's something still alive in fridge. We make pleasantries while subtly throwing out any and all things within the vicinity of the fridge.
9.45am - We ruthlessly throw belongings into boxes/garbage bags/suitcases/any object capable of carrying other objects and label things 'BOX OF SH*T' followed by 'BOX OF MORE SH*T' followed by 'WHY DO WE HAVE SO MANY BOXES OF SH*T. We are very proud that we thought of labelling.
10.45am - We're on the brink of a breakdown and realise that's probably because we haven't had a coffee today, so we obviously go and get one.
11.30am - Removalists try to take washing machine and we discover wet clothes still in there. We are struck by a feeling of intense shame.
11:39am - We open kitchen drawers and say to each other, "Look nah seriously we don't even cook that much should we just leave it?" After several minutes of discussion, we agree Mum would be mad if we abandoned all our belongings.
12:08pm - The book case still has things on it and HOW IS THERE STILL MORE WORK TO DO, we've been packing for like 10 hours now (note: we have not been packing for 10 hours). We consider burning everything, but realise we've already packed the matches.
12:33pm - Omg we're so hungry how is one meant to pack when they haven't even eaten that's ridiculous.
12:34pm - Decide it's time to eat, and treat ourselves to a yummy lunch. Neither of us are quite sure what we're treating ourselves for.
12:26pm - We receive a call from the removalists who can't find the new place, and to be honest, we're not entirely sure where it is. Also, we have no brain left.
1:11pm - Go back to apartment, and decide to open bathroom cupboard. Holy Jesus. Should we throw out all the half empty bottles of crap we never... ? There's no time. Everything is thrown in boxes.
1:14pm - Realise that unspecified goo is leaking out of box, probably because nothing has lids. We yell and blame each other.
3:42pm - Hours have passed in a blur and there are approximately 408 boxes full of shit. Clare asks, "Hey, my phone's nearly out of battery, any idea where we put the charger?" We laugh and then cry.
4:22pm - Jessie located in kitchen walking around in circles, with one sock and one coat hanger. Not sure where either belongs. Nothing belongs anywhere anymore. Too overwhelming. Sock and coat hanger disappear into growing abyss of ‘sh*t’ that may or may not make it to new place.
4:31pm - Jessie makes ridiculous comment about being ‘almost there’. Realise will never be almost there.
4:59pm - Clare has resorted to throwing literal money (coins) in the bin. Jessie is annoyed, but ultimately apathetic.
5:08pm - The removalists are finished. We feel deep shame about what has occurred, and hope we never cross paths ever again.
5:10pm - We look at our old empty apartment and thinks it looks so much better without our crap in it. Wouldn't mind moving back in.
9:30pm - Have spent an entire night unpacking things, and things are starting to slightly resemble a space where human beings live. We reflect on the day that was. We've lost a) our dignity, b) three and a half pairs of socks, c) mail that we threw out because it gave us anxiety and d) the cord that connects the TV to the wall.
And that's okay. (It's definitely not okay).
But now all the hard work is done, except that it's not, because we don't have a lounge and Clare hasn't had a doona cover for approximately eight months.
The process of moving in will never end.
And that's what makes it so terrifying.
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