It is done.
The move, that is.
I am now – save for a beer fridge I still have to pick up and an entry-way I still have to sweep – finished with the horrible, horrible experience of selling and buying, packing and moving. If this experience lasted any longer, I'd add "drinking and screaming" into the mix, too.
I am also now a (temporary) resident of Cloverdale.
And though I've already written about the things I'm going to miss about my townhouse – and my fear/hatred of change – I have found a solution to letting those sad feelings overwhelm me, and it appears to be working. (Although as my mom pointed out to me yesterday, during a brief "I hate this, it sucks" mini-fit, it doesn't always appear to be working. But I'm doing better than my previous moves).
Here is my method: negativity. (And believe me, being negative isn't a stretch for me.)
One day, of course, I'll only think fondly of my little house, but for now, rather than focus on those positives, I'm only thinking of all the things I hate. It makes it easier to leave.
And after talking to one of my neighbours on the weekend – who happened to mention some interesting opinions/facts about the impending roof/balcony/strata situation – I left Saturday night feeling pretty good. That feeling was boosted further after speaking to a few more neighbours.
You see, the general response when I say "I'm moving," isn't what you'd expect. By and large, it isn't people saying, "Aww, that's too bad."
It's people saying, "Good for you. Get out. Get out now."
Now, that could be because people aren't unhappy to see me go, but what's more likely is that other people can see things crumbling around them, just as I did, but for whatever reason can't get out.
So yeah, maybe I am living like a hobo with three-quarters of my life in storage and the other quarter in a suitcase or carboard box, but that's OK.
At least I got out when I did.
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