Moving Trauma

I have become suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of things that I need to do before I move to Virginia to start what I am coming to think of as Phase 4 of my life (Phase 1: Pre-Marriage; Phase 2: Marriage; Phase 3: Limbo; Phase 4: Grad School). Why suddenly? Yes, that's an excellent question. It shouldn't be sudden. I have known for a full week now (oh, dear God, has it only been a week? Seriously? That can't be right. . . .) that I will be moving to Virginia, and leaving the frustrating delights of California for a six-year-possibly-plus sojourn in the South. (Yes, Virginia is considered -- or considers itself -- the South. I know that's going to be a bit of a culture shock, but that's for a different post.)

So much to do! So much to think about, and figure out! And so much to figure out just on the moving front! Should I rent a UHaul and drive myself, my books, and my few pieces of furniture out? Or should it be Budget, or Penske? I spent a terrifyingly illuminating hour on the interweb today reading about the horrors people have experienced using the three aforementioned truck rental companies, and have my own horror story about Penske -- again, for another post. Or should I sell virtually everything, and ship the few things that I truly care about out, and then just live on boxes and carpet until I can buy new stuff? Or should I borrow someone's truck, and pack what I can into the truck, and then do boxes and carpet until I can get new things?

And seriously? How the f*** is moving so expensive?!

Let me explicate. After the divorce, I took approximately half of what my husband and I had managed to accumulate in our 9+ years of marriage, as well as some things that I had had before we married. This didn't amount to much -- I was able, after divorcing, to fit it all into a 10' x 10' storage unit, with PLENTY of room left over. My worldly possessions now amount to a few bookcases, a coffee table, two desks (one a wicked antique rolltop desk (which will be for sale, by the way), and the other a thoroughly modern, enormous computer desk, which I will be taking with me), a few side tables, and . . . oh, yeah, about 2,000 books. Not to mention a cat and his paraphernalia, some cross-stitch stuff, tons of pictures and doo-dads and knick-knacks, and then about 12 boxes of Christmas decorations, and, of course, something like eight boxes of kitchen-related stuff -- a full set of red and white wine glasses, champagne flutes, Wedgwood wedding china, baking stuff. . . .

You know, as an aside, I have quite a bit of "stuff", but very little of it actually PRACTICAL stuff. I mean, take the china. I have eight full settings of Wedgwood's India china (gorgeous stuff, I love it, and will never part with it), along with crystal wine goblets, sterling silver flatware, serving dishes, the lot. However, do I have everyday dishes? No. Glasses? No. Oh, I have some mugs, and a few random pieces of glassware, but dishes? No. Same thing with pots and pans and stuff. I have tons and tons and tons of baking stuff -- cookie sheets, Silpats, cookie scoops, measuring cups, cookie cutters (seriously, something like 300 cookie cutters), stoneware flats, all sorts of crap. But pots and pans? No. I have one Le Creuset 12-inch cast iron frying pan, a 10-inch Calphalon saute pan, a 3-quart sauce pot, and, um, oh! A double-boiler. And that is it.

So here I am, with all of these random remnants of a once-established life, and not with any of the things that I'll probably really need (like a bed; I don't have one of those), and yet, somehow, despite my utter lack of large pieces of furniture and a real paucity of space-sucking items, I am finding it almost impossible to move to Virginia for under $5,000! Seriously! Now, tell me, how is that possible?! It find it utterly baffling. And that doesn't take into account doing things like buying a bed, or a couch, or other pieces of furniture I was hoping to have to make life, um, livable (I guess those floor cushions at Crate and Barrel are going to become my primary method of keeping my butt off cold winter floors), nor does it include important things like deposit and first month's rent on the apartment I'm hoping to find at the end of month, or first month's living expenses, or books for class, school supplies. . . .

Ugh. The notion of getting rid of everything and starting new has such appeal when I look at it all like this. Yet . . . my books . . . and Nana's little muffin tins . . . and Mom's cheese plates . . . and the still lifes (lives?) that my Aunt Joanie did before she became famous . . . and all my little pictures and candles and tiny sterling silver tea set that I got from Williamsburg when I was 10. . . .

This is an impossible dilemma. And I only have three months to sort it all out. Because come July, I need to be packing, and moving, and going! God help me. And God help those poor souls who have to deal with me over the next three or four months.