As you know, over a year ago I started my new journey. I moved out on my own, went through a divorce, had to learn a LOT about life, learned to conquer my fears (at least some of them..there’s still the issue with those aliens under my bed), gave up freelancing (for a while) and got a “real job” working for The Man.. and things were going well. Or so I thought. Over time, things got crazy. To the point that I’m ready to have a mental breakdown some days.
The past few weeks have been just one thing after another. Just when I thought I had dealt, life threw me another curveball. The latest? Waking up last week to find out that the owner of my cottage was no longer the owner. Ok, fine. Whatever. Oh, but the new owner? Yeah, apparently he’s a jerk! The first thing he does is start talking about how he’s going to just empty all of the cottages (aka get rid of everyone) and do something different. Well, if he’s that kind of person… no thanks. So I’m moving. Some time around the 1st of February, I’ll be moving to a bigger place (an apartment..gasp. I HATE apartments) in a town about 40 minutes away.
It’s a good thing for me, I guess. It’s a fresh start, kinda. It’s closer to my kids (I’m still a bit unsure about that one..they’re kinda evil). It’s bigger. MUCH bigger. From a 1-bedroom cottage to a 3-bedroom apartment? Yes. There will be room for the girls to have their own bedroom when they’re over. And a separate room for my office/studio.
So this weekend I’ve spent most of my available time packing. And cleaning. And packing some more. And complaining about packing. I’ve taken a few breaks along the way to rest and regroup. But mostly? Yeah, just packing. I’m over it. I’m ready for it to be done. I HATE packing. I HATE moving. But what can you do, right? Sometimes it’s necessary. I’m not looking forward to the 40-minute drive to work, and especially the 40-minute drive home AFTER work at midnight. But I’ll adapt. I always do, yeah?
