There’s a bed in my kitchen…

Bear with me, I got the internet connected this morning, then plugged my laptop in to charge and headed off to finish packing up the old place. Now, my computer is somewhere back there behind all of the stuff carried in today.

There behind the TV trays beside the modem, that’s where my laptop is buried.

Boy, do I hate moving

Does anyone actually enjoy moving? I hate it. Been doing it my whole life. You pack all your worldly possessions away into boxes, carry them out to waiting trucks, trailers, and such to be hauled away to the new place. Then once at the new place, you have to decide where everything should go.

Cleaning because they said it was done already

They swore it had been cleaned already. It wasn’t. Now, on top of packing, carrying, hauling, carrying, unpacking [and repeat], I’m also scrubbing food out of fridge and cabinet, cat urine (not my babies) out of the carpet, and some nasty old carpet powder had to be vacuumed up.

All this cleaning creates extra laundry. No problem. They provided a washer and dryer to take care of that. Loaded up my first load, figured out how the bells and whistles work, and washed our first load of laundry at the new house transferred it to the dryer only to discover that the dryer doesn’t work.

and, there’s that bed in the kitchen

The only way to bring in my son’s futon was through the sliding glass doors, so there it sits in my kitchen.

The joys of moving are so bountiful. There’s boxes of food and dishes all over the kitchen. There was so much to unload. There were too many angles up steps and trough doors to carry the futon in through the front door, so we carried it around back and slid it in through the kitchen door.

That’s where it came to rest, on its side, blocking off the kitchen, and making me take the long way round to the laundry room.

Someday, we will finally be unpacked, and maybe I’ll forget all about the time there was a bed in my kitchen.

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