If I wasn’t so tired, I’d be celebrating right now. The moving truck got loaded yesterday and I don’t have any more boxes to pack. These last two weeks have been grueling. Packing is hideous work but one predominant thought kept me going. Hopefully I’ll never have to do this again. I can hardly dare to believe that this might have been my last time ever to move. It’s possible someone else will have to move me at some point, hopefully way in the future, when I have dementia and I’m headed to a nursing home, but by then I’ll be beyond caring if anything breaks.

Moving is stressful enough, but I also had to contend with a few factors that made it even more frustrating. I had exactly two weeks to pack our whole house, and every day during those two weeks, workers were outside our windows working on the deck and yard. They started the project the day I returned from preparing our new house. And I don’t mean just one quiet worker minding his own business. The last three days, there were no less than seven people and one dog outside. I am not exaggerating. I packed to the rhythm of power tools and the head-exploding tune of a shrill piercing whistle (all day long!) from the leaky water hose. Needless to say, I wasn’t the picture of graciousness as I shooed the workers away and shoved their things aside to make a space for Steve and I to eat our last meal on the deck. Yes, it was a trying time, but at some point in my spiritual walk, I’d like to be able to not let those things bother me so much, or at least not to let my frustration show. I hope to never live through the experience of packing again, but I did live through it, and our truck is on its way, and that’s what matters.

Phase 4: Putting It All Away begins next week when I fly out to meet the moving truck. Until then, we have to clean our old apartment and settle in to our furnished studio for the final stretch. That is, whenever I can get up off the couch.