I’ve been under constant, near-intolerable stress, daily for the past three months. By the time this essay publishes, I’ll have 11 months left on a 1-year apartment lease. I’ll need to downsize everything even further to afford a cheaper apartment, however, I’ve budgeted enough for this year of casual downsizing. These past three months have been rough, but this past week has been rougher. In this marathon homestretch, I’m so close, yet so far; fatigued; exhausted.
I get the keys tomorrow.
I wanted to do a lot of packing today, to ease the move over the weekend, but the stress over everything has just been too overwhelming. My neck hurts, I’m fatigued, and the last thing I want to do is push any further. After I’m done with this essay, I’ll go to sleep. I don’t have the energy to do much else. My head’s been hurting all afternoon, after having to deal with a conglomerate organization mysteriously claiming awfully stupid tolls. It would have been nicer if I had the energy to pack up what I wanted to today.
Nothing I can do now.
Yesterday, when I received approval for the apartment, I had to wait until the 2nd or pay more per month to move in early – some stipulation for their databases. 48 hours of purgatory might have been harder to endure than 3 months, because at least throughout most of those three months, it’s been looming stress rather than subtle anticipation. I want this to go well. I want the move to be a success, which means: get everything out and over into the apartment without any disturbances or damages.
I’ll get to bed early.
Tomorrow, I’ll prepare some things for my first drive over to the new place. I’m not sure how many runs I’ll make back and forth tomorrow because I have an afternoon obligation, but probably at least one additional full carload before getting some help to move the rest. I wanted to get my utilities and bills all paid, but getting internet service was a terrible experience that killed my motivation. Fuck them. I think I’ll pay more for another service provider. Twice they were terrible. No need for a third negative experience.
Maybe it was just my completely zapped patience.
This next year, living in this apartment, won’t be as much of a purgatory state as it’s been over the last three months and especially two days. Sure, there will be an end date, but that will hopefully just serve as motivation to downsize from a two-bedroom into a one-bedroom. Of course, if I can set up passive income streams like publishing this Moving Zeal eBook, and investing my money more wisely than in material possessions that don’t thrill me with excitement or were bestowed upon me honorably, then I’ll stay.
Just depends on the housing market, I guess.
With fewer possessions, I could afford an apartment either cheaper or closer proximity to “the action” of the city.
Until then, I write, rest, and write.
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Writing out my anxiety over waiting until I can get the keys to the apartment and start moving stuff. Dealing with all the paperwork sucks, though.|
|Related: Other Moving Zeal essays.|
|Picture: Keys resembling Klefki.|
|Written On: March 1st [20 minutes]|
|Last Edited: First draft; final draft.|