The Never-Ending Move

Next time, like that last time 3 years ago, I’m hiring movers.

The ONLY reason I didn’t hire someone to move me from Houston to east Texas was the cost of having 3 movers haul my stuff 230 miles. If it were across town, I’d be completely moved in with energy to spare. As of now, I’ve traveled back to Houston 4 times alone – and this happened after the official move and I still have at least a full trailer or big’ish truckload to go.
I. Am. Exhausted.

Yes. I have a lotta shit. But it’s mostly art supplies, gardening supplies and plants, all my sewing stuff to make fabulous clothing, and a LOT of boxes and bins with the various gatherings of civilized ants… or maybe I’m kinda like a crow who brings home shiny bottle caps and safety pins, but the shine wears off pretty fast when ya gotta pack that crap up and haul it.

Here’s the fun part: I get to do this all over again after selling the house and buying land to move this RV onto so that, later, I can build a little cottage, then another cottage for my guests to stay, all because Artist’s Retreat. Lest I not forget.

To do all that will require at least 2 more trips to Houston, possibly 3 or 4, maybe 5, then the closing, whereupon I’ll swing by the house for a final sweep, then close up shop. Then money. Then the hunt for the perfect spot upon which to place my future. Then the magic starts all over again, like a torus folding onto itself, regenerating and multiplying life infinitum, as we are all made up of innumerable tiny black holes the size of strings in the theory, holes that swallow all that is known, then spits it all back out the other end in a perfect replica of itself. That’s one theory, anyway. I could explain but, in the interest of time, here ya go… get ready for the sun to come up over the Event Horizon. It’s all there.

 

This place is always such a mess…