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We're in Leeds tonight, at my mom's, because we needed to do some laundry and get away from the smell of cardboard for a while. And get Rusty's for dinner (I'd not eaten an actual meal since Friday). I'm exhausted, and I know Kathryn must be ten times tireder than I am. She had to do all that driving, plus all the rest. We'll head back to Birmingham tomorrow morning.

I've entirely failed at writing anything like a blow-by-blow of this move. Likely, that's for the best. It has been the hardest, messiest move of my life. I'm going to try to forget this move and all its particulars as soon as I am free to do that.

Today, the guys we hired from Two Men and a Truck came and unloaded the Penske that Byron drove down from Providence. Four and a half hours were needed to get the job done, schlepping all those boxes up three flights of stairs in the heat and humidity. Originally, me and Spooky and Byron and Jennifer (an old friend who lives in Verbena) were going to attempt to handle it ourselves. Then saner heads prevailed, though the did so at $125/hour. This move has been filled with hidden and unexpected fees.

Also, a water main broke somewhere and we were without water for much of the morning, while the movers were unloading, which made nothing easier. We don't yet have gas, because...I'm not sure why. Because people are stupid, near as I can tell. We get our internet turned on tomorrow afternoon.

We got into Birmingham yesterday evening a little after sunset. Mom met us at the new place, to bring us the keys.

I'm going to be changing the name of this journal, as I will no longer be writing from a red room. I will be working in a grey room. Or "bone white." Or something like that. I may go back to "Dear Sweet Filthy World."

Later,
CRK




10:45 a.m. (Saturday) at 25 Oak Street in Providence, where we lived for the past ten years.

Comments

everville340
Jun. 19th, 2018 04:42 pm (UTC)
I've entirely failed at writing anything like a blow-by-blow of this move.

Some things are better left unsaid. Even for the annals of (personal) history.

Welcome home, Caitlín.