I do not make a good nomad

Moving sucks.

What?  This is the third day in the row I made the exclamation from my blog?  It is getting a little annoying?  I would believe it!

My sincere apologies for the whining.

You see, I grew up in the same house.  All 22 years of living with my parents were lived in the same home.  I know, I am so lucky.  As a result, until moving to Newfoundland for medicine, I had never lived elsewhere for more than 8 weeks in the summer.  And thus, had never had a major move.

This, however is move number 3 in 4 years.  And it is a big one.  Because somehow along the way, we have acquired stuff.

Armed with two of our many lovely mugs at our wedding shower.

Patrick and I have an inordinate number of mugs.  We only own one glass.  Almost all of the mugs are mismatched because they were random gifts or from places we visited.  It is nice and a little tacky.  Not so much a time to pack.  Literally a whole box of mugs.

My parents helped us with the packing when they were here for grad… Because that is what parents do.  We pretty much confined the kitchen to boxes.

You know what kills?  Small appliances.  The rice cooker, the beaters, the toaster, the toaster oven.  These little conveniences in life make for big inconveniences  when packing.  Just saying.

We also learned that packing tape is difficult to find at 10:00 at night when you run out… For the third time.  Pro tip: they sell packs of 6 for a reason.  You need more than you think.

I learned that women should not pay money to go out and get hair waxed off.  You want smooth parts?  Just use packing tape.  I accidently taped my hand.  I think I lost hairs I didn’t know I had.  And possibly a layer of skin.

We have curtain rod hooks up on our wall.  The movers just left with our tool box.  Yet another packing fail.

I would like to argue that my tape gun is bigger and thus more threatening. Image from find-me-a-gift.co.uk.

At one point, I was tired and cranky and I may or may not have threatened to “tape gun and sharpie” Patrick if he didn’t get to work.  In his defense, I am a bit of a control freak, so he  was trying to stay safely out of my way until I went to bed at which point he planned to miraculously pack the rest of his stuff.  That is what happened.  He is like a superhero in the dark of night.

Best part of all of this… The mystery.  “When is our stuff arriving in our new destination?”  “Sometime between June 11 and 25.”  They will let us know when they get a better guesstimate.  Helpful.  Living on this island makes everything a bit more black hole like.  Things just get lost in transit for days at a time… To the mercy of the lovely ferry system.

Other thrilling part is the fun of rediscovering old stuff you forgot you had, like the letter I mentioned in yesterday’s post.  Or a DVD of one of my clinical skills encounters from first year in which the standardized patient at one point notices a stain on his shirt and asks me to help him wipe it off.  Patrick insisted we watch it.  I am pretty sure I didn’t watch it the first time.  I found several new lip balms.  And a pair of slippers.  And enough change to possibly make a float for a good going lemonade stand.

Starting over is hard.  But there is some fun to it all.

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