Because of the utter ridiculousness of my schedule, I was finished with the New Orleans part of my job by Easter. And because of the utter ridiculousness of my landlord, I was required to pack and move everything to a storage unit before leaving to come home for the summer.
I think packing makes me sick. I'm serious. I am sick every time I need to pack, and this time was no exception. I was so sick I napped on Sunday, which I never, ever, ever do, but I had a fever and I couldn't think clearly enough to write and I was annoyed at wasting a sick day without writing and I was like, "Forget it, I will watch Sherlock, then," and then I fell asleep during "Hounds." (Sorry, Mark Gatiss, but...)
The rest of the packing was basically hell. It took me days and days and days and I made my friends promise not to let me do this again, to make me hire other people to do it. I am simply a terrible packer. I don't have spatial imagination, so I am unable to look at something and figure out if it will fit in a box. At one point, I carried three different items over to a box to put them in the box only to have them be MUCH larger than the box in question. By the third item, I just collapsed onto my bed in hysterical giggles, because HOW CAN I REALLY BE THAT BAD AT THIS? HOW? And yet, I am. No matter how hard I try, I just am.
I started the packing in a very organized fashion, by going through a bunch of boxes I hadn't opened in, like, five years. I was finally like, "It appears to me there can't possibly be any reason to keep moving these boxes all over creation."
Here is a partial list of what I found in those boxes:
--My acceptance letter to Harvard
--The newspapers from when the Red Sox won the World Series
--MARDI GRAS BEADS OMG I HAVE SO MANY MARDI GRAS BEADS
--Check registers dating back to COLLEGE
--A birthday card I bought for someone and never sent. A fancy one, too. Too bad it’s all bent now.
--A random fax from my father with a lease for his company that he wanted me to review.
--The travel itinerary for when I interviewed for the Boston law firm job, complete with my notes on who I was interviewing with
--Notes from crazy law firm life for my intended autobiography
--The Equus Playbill
--A New Yorker from 2007
--Several bench memos that I wrote to my Judge from 2004
--Drafts of memos from the law firm job (actually, these and the bench memos are useful and I’m bringing them to work to use with my students next year. Go, random hoarding me!)
--A charm in the shape of the state of Rhode Island that I bought for my charm bracelet in 2005 and thought I’d lost forever
--Hair barrettes from God knows when because my hair has always been too thick to put into a barrette
--SO MANY PHOTOGRAPHS FROM TRIPS OMG
--Four random tiny containers, still in a bag from The Container Store, costing 49 cents each. I have no idea why I bought those or what I intended to do with them.
--An evening purse, tags still attached, that I have zero recollection of ever buying. It’s cute, though, I’ll keep it.
--Two business suits that I have been looking EVERYWHERE for
--A cheap blanket that I used to use to sit outside on and also have been looking EVERYWHERE for
Some of these things I saved. Some of them I finally threw out. And, after going through that, I completely lost interest in packing. So much so that I didn't even bother to label my boxes. I was like, "UGH, WHATEVER." Because I am sick of packing and I know I'm going to have to do it twice more in the next twelve months, and then AGAIN if I don't get a job in New England. So, anyway, I lost interest, but at least it all did get done, eventually. Also, I was actually smart for once and saved things for me to listen to while I packed. I finished "Cabin Pressure," which was so fantastically divine, and when can I have the next season? And then I listened to the podfic of "The Progress of Sherlock Holmes," which was a fic everyone had recommended to me but it was so long I never had time to sit down and read it (I am a liar, I sit down and read fic all day all the time, I just never reached that one on my list). Anyway, everyone was right and that fic was awesome but it was soooooo angsty in the beginning-middle bits that I was like, "What the hell, I've packed up three rooms and Sherlock's still mooning over John. JUST SHAG HIM ALREADY." But no, seriously, it was really good, I recommend it.
On Tuesday I left my house for the first time in days to retrieve more packing supplies, and it was strangely surreal. My mind was already so much in New England that I stepped out the door and was surprised to see New Orleans around me, like I'd already been expecting brownstones and chilly early spring air. I spent seven months living in New Orleans, and in a way leaving it felt like waking up from a dream. I'm home now, and it feels like I never left, and New Orleans life has this foggy vagueness to it, like I can't believe it actually happened and the details are all slipping away from me but I feel sure there was a streetcar involved, I think...
And then it was MOVING DAY. Biggest disappointment of my life: My mover was not Martin Crieff. I didn't even think about this until arctacuda pointed it out and then I collapsed in dramatic despair over it. Granted, it would have taken Martin Crieff, like, 17 days to move all my stuff with his van named after history's worst pilot. But I wouldn't have cared if it had been Martin Crieff. I would have been like, "Awww, you're so tall and adorable and competent!" (Because I don't care how short Martin Crieff is, I am *very* short, he would definitely be taller than me.) And then he would have thought everything about me was enchanting, because that's how Martin seems, and that's exactly the kind of guy I need. He wouldn't have been annoyed by my five bins of random holiday decorations from Hallmark, he would think that totally charming and he would tell Douglas all about me and Douglas would be like, "OMG, shut up, let's play a word game instead." So yes, I spent my moving day writing Mary Sue fic wherein I end up with Martin Crieff and bemoaning the fact that actually Martin Crieff is fictional and WHATEVER, UNIVERSE, because we really would be perfect for each other and I blame arctacuda for ALL OF THIS.
The movers took TWELVE HOURS to move my stuff. WHY DOES IT ALWAYS TAKE SO LONG? I asked them if I have a lot of stuff, and they did suggest I sell my furniture. However, I love my furniture, so I am stubbornly moving it all over the country with me. Whatever, movers, I will not take your expert advice.
The move required me to rent a U-Haul truck, because that's how everyone told me it should be done. I would have preferred not to do that, but it did, theoretically, save me money. I actually didn't mind driving the U-Haul. It was kind of nice being up high. I did mind the fact that the U-Haul rental place was in this totally sketchy area and I had to return the U-Haul at night when the place was closed and I had to call for a cab and cabs in New Orleans are sketchy and I was convinced I was going to be mugged. I actually put my driver's license in my bra (what feeble bra I have, because I have no breasts, but Martin Crieff wouldn't be bothered by that, either) because I was willing to forego the credit cards in my wallet, but, dammit, I was getting on that plane the next day and GOING HOME. I called my mother and sat on the phone with her for half an hour until the cab showed up, and I was not killed or mugged or anything else. I felt like such a survivor!
And then, of course, I got to come back home. I will do another entry later on the joys of being back home, but for now, one last "Cabin Pressure" reference, which is: Listening to "Cabin Pressure" has actually helped my fear of flying. I was sitting on the plane thinking, "How difficult can this whole thing be? Martin and Douglas barely pay attention when they're flying the plane." And I was totally calm. It was really nice. I should e-mail John Finnemore to thank him.
But my pilot wasn't Martin Crieff, so again I say, WHATEVER, UNIVERSE. (Except that the plane didn't crash, so I'm not really unhappy, universe, I SWEAR.)
Heh. I never had an issue with anything near Fenway. Then again, I love baseball and deliberately chose a Fenway location for easy access. But the crowds were never especially loud where I was, it was just that it *was* crowded during home games. Also, I never felt unsafe in that area, ever. You should be fine.