There are easy moves, like the one I did from New York to DC back in 2008. There are the eventful-but-not-so-bad-in-the-end moves, like the one the hubs and I did during Snowpocalypse to the building next door to my old studio apartment And there are the miserable moves, like the one we did on Tuesday, from DC to Michigan.
My cold started the Thursday before, one of those annoying little things that at first you think is just the result of being in overly-air-conditioned rooms all day and then later realize is actually the start of not being able to move without sneezing everywhere. By Tuesday, my nose was red from my dependence on Puffs Plus, and my DayQuil had become useless.... and we had an 8-hour drive ahead of us. My nerves were on edge due to the cat's horrible yowling, so that didn't help matters much. I didn't even have time to feel sad or give one last farewell glance at my house--I was too distracted by my guilt at making my cat move halfway across the country with me. I burst into tears a few blocks from the house and debated turning around and leaving my cat behind, considered facing a year in Michigan on my own, just so that furry little mess wouldn't have to be so scared in her little cat carrier.
But then, after we pulled over to administer some kitty sedatives (to the cat, though truthfully, I could have used something, too), we were okay. Lots of rest stops, lots of precarious driving in our gigantic moving truck (naturally, Budget was all out of the normal-sized vans), lots of prayers said as we drove through the rain-soaked highways of the Midwest.
However.
Then we hit Detroit, where we planned to spend the night with my in-laws before driving out to Ann Arbor to officially move me in to the new apartment. Detroit, we learned, was submerged in water from the torrential downpours, and the highways were flooded. I didn't think that city highways could actually flood, not when I needed to drive on them, but alas, nature is indifferent to moving plans. So, the next hour was spent driving around the outskirts of the city, past the newly-abandoned cars stuck in water, past the long-abandoned burned-out shells of businesses long gone, and tried to find an open road.
In the end, the 8-hour drive took 11 hours.
But you know what? It could have been worse. We weren't in an accident. My cat survived. I survived. The entire time, the hubs showed the patience of a saint--do I even deserve such a wonderful man? And the feeling of slipping in to dry clothes and burrowing under a familiar, worn blanket--it made everything alright in the end.
So here I am. Without a mattress or a bed frame, without an internet connection, and without a clue of what this next year will bring. But I am here. And I am ready.
