Moving sucks ass.
It's terrible every time you do it, no matter what. If you're like me, you realize how much of a pain in the ass it is once you move, but by the next time you have to do it you've forgotten the magnitude of the suckage. You look around and think "this won't be too bad, just some big things and some clothes and I'll be done in a few hours." False. The truth of the matter is moving generally goes as following:
Step 1: Survey area to be moved, mentally diagnose what will be required.
Step 2: Coerce good friends into coming over Saturday to "help move a few things, shouldn't take too long".
Step 3: Girl it's plain to see, that you're the only one for shit wrong step 3. What ever happened to Brian McKnight? Anyway, step 3 is packing. Packing is the worst thing ever, and involves many substeps, but we'll pack them into one here. You get boxes from someone who has a good free box hookup, and you start putting stuff in them. It is at this point you realize how much worthless shit that has accumulated in closets, the "junk drawer", under your bed, etc. This inspires an annoying extra step
Step 4: Massive worthless shit removal. A worthy foe indeed, this task requires going through said piles of random crap and takes somewhere between a fortnight and f***ing forever. The process is not only hindered by sheer quantity of crap to sort through, it is often sidetracked by a pile of pictures from high school, a 3rd grade year book, and usually is delayed at least an hour and a half by me reading old poetry I wrote. If you're lucky enough to have help with this step, you will without question annoy the hell out of that person and they will never help you again. A typical Step 4 discussion goes something like:
Friend: (Starts to throw away huge inflatable bat I won four years ago at Worlds of Fun.)
Me: Hey whoa, what the hell are you doing? That's my prize I won for being awesome.
Friend: It's a piece of crap blow up piece of plastic that you probably spent $50 trying to win. You haven't even seen it for years and plus it has like three holes in it.
Me: It has sentimental value and you can't put a price on that. Plus I use it all the time, remember when I got hammered that one time and hit you in the face with it when you walked in the door? Forgive me for not being excited about throwing away our memories of each other.
Friend: Fine, whatever. I'll put it over here in the "keep" pile along with this broken flash light, unmatched socks, your cracked "Random Azz Beatz 3" CD, and notes from your ex-girlfriend.
Me: Thank you. Actually on second thought, what the hell am I going to do with an inflatable bat? Throw it away.
This step is usually repeated anywhere from 10-30 times during any given move, typically resulting in at least four individual arguments. Relationships of all kinds have been permanently damaged or ended during this phase.
Step 5: Load up "the big stuff" with said willing friends, who you've duped into this job by promising some reward (food, beer) that you will probably never deliver on. Upon arriving, these friends immediately realize you have undersold the amount of work to do, and exchange a look that silently says "we're going to be here all day our friend is an asshole." Then the process of carrying furniture out to someone's truck or U-Haul* begins, which can be summed up with a lot sweating, cursing, banging up the walls, comments about things being awkward and not heavy, jokes about pretending light stuff is super heavy, and debate surrounding the most efficient way to stack it in the less-than-big-enough transportation vehicle. This step should only be executed with friends that are close enough to quickly forgive you for ruining their entire Saturday day and night.
Sidenote: It should be noted that there are only two types of weather on moving day: Shitty, or hotter than my skin after a weekend at the lake.
Step 6: Somehow, by some illogical miracle, once you go back into the house after all the furniture is gone, the mess left behind creates the apparition that there is now more stuff than before. Electronics, wires, curtains, wall stuff, shoes, trash cans, random boxes and bags, video games, magazines, etc. litter the floor like hurricane Chuck Norris entered your world and tore its ass in half. No one will help with this, you're on your own and when you run out of reasons to stall the cleanup you just have to sack up and face it.
Step 7: Cleaning. This is especially significant when you are leaving a place you're renting, as you desperately attempt to thwart your landlord's efforts to keep any or all of your deposit. This includes the typical vacuuming and scrubbing (including behind the toilet where you vomited that night you hit your friend in the face with an inflatable bat), but gets interesting during extracurricular activities such as filling and covering holes in the wall. We all become spackling PhD's as we use white toothpaste to make that crater in the wall you kicked after losing Mario-Kart, fill the craterous vacancy where you used a two inch drill bit trying to hang a TV, and so on. I would feel bad doing this if it weren't for the fact that the person before me did it to, and the person before them this cycle will continue until the wall no longer exists and the place collapses upon itself.
Step 8: Transport to new place. After the truck is secured with random bits of bungee cord and rope you found, and all are in agreement that "nothin' will slide around too much", it's time to go to the next roof over your head. . After the furniture gets carried up inevitable flights of stairs and your friends leave cursing your name, you are left to UNpack everything you just packed, sort of like cleaning your house really well in the morning then destroying it that same night. Somehow stuff does not fit as well in drawers and closets as it did just hours ago, and the next few days (weeks, months ) are spent putting your world back together. Boxes are opened on a need basis in descending order, starting with "Bathroom Stuff" all the way down to "inflatable prizes."
Step 9: Life resumes. After fighting a losing battle with your ex-landlord about the shoe hole she discovered in the drywall, and everything is unpacked at the new place, life is good again. You reside in this place for awhile, accumulate a new load of worthless shit, and just as you forget how much that entire process sucked guess what? It's time to move again.
*The U-Haul story is to follow.