So I keep my moves minimal, and brief. My landlord is doing work on my place, and it’ll take a few weeks, so I had to find short-term living arrangements. As I searched the web, it became a trickier task than I anticipated, mainly because I have a big dog.
My friends Jenn and Michelle call me Mr. Lucky, because things always seem to go my way (parking spots magically open up for me), but this was pushing it. That is, until I found out that my next door neighbor, TL, had to leave town for work, and needed someone to sublet her dog-friendly apartment. Her place is eight feet from mine. Mr. Luckiest.
That squared away, a marathon move ensued. I was able to store my things in my garage, but because it wasn’t a regular long-term move, I had to do a lot of math, figuring out what to take with me, and what would be stored in my garage and inaccessible, crammed into one space. With the exception of my big brother stopping by to help me with my couch and armoire, I did everything myself, and it was stressful as shit. I felt like a day laborer, only I wasn’t getting paid and the guy who hired me was a real dick.
But now I’m all squared away, living next door. Ricky got comfortable quickly (he’s been finding TL’s dog’s toys in every nook of the place.) It’s tight quarters, but super convenient. (And check out TL’s Emmy, which she won for sports production.) I still have my mail and newspaper delivered to my place and park in my driveway. We’ll enjoy it until it’s time to move back, and the festivities begin all over again. But it’s okay – I owe myself a favor for helping myself move on Sunday.
