I stole my title today from one of my favourite Damien Rice songs that I’m listening to top volume for a number of reasons. One, there’s lots of swearing in the song so that suits me just fine right now. B, I am soothed very much by music so that’s right on the money and three, I am as tall as a tree and I can’t find any roots to speak of. See, I’m moving. Again.
Boxes, tape, hockey bags, big white van, somebody stop me before I pull all my spiky hair out. While I am happy enough to move on to our more permanent residence (and I use the word permanent very loosely), I am not digging this whole uprooting business. Etrochey has been so very kind to us and I’m kind of settled here with my cows and chickens. I’m even making peace with the unknown creature (I’ve never been brave enough to go see what it is) that makes huge splashes in the river late at night.
I can’t believe 6 weeks have gone by already. In a way it seems like we’ve been here for an eternity. We have managed to leap over many bureaucratic hurdles and I can hardly remember my house in Canada. In other ways it seems like we just got here and I’m wondering how we have managed to spread our tentacles to every room of this vast house in the country. Honestly, every room I go into, and there are many, seems to have something in it that now needs to be packed. I thought we brought very little with us but, as is often the case, I appear to be wrong.
I think I have moved now over 40 times in my life and I’m wearing down. Even now I know that this next place is just a stopover until The Wreck is finished, likely in April and then I’m at it all over again. The good news is that I’ve stayed in the next house before so I have an idea where everything is going and what to expect.
So hear me now. I am never moving again. No more will I taste the bitter packing tape as I rip it with my teeth because I’ve already packed every sharp object I own. No longer will I spend hours frantically trying to find the box that has the dental floss in it after eating a full rack of ribs at 2 in the morning. Never again shall I frighten the bejesus out of a sleeping husband by walking on sheets of bubble wrap on the 4 am tinkle run. Non, nein, nyet. No one can make me.
Okay, one more time in April but after that no more. Once again I’m making plans and all I can hear is god laughing her ass off…