Well, I’ve moved.
The removal people came yesterday. It was an incredibly stressful day. I don’t like people in my space, unless I know them well, so to have three strangers there was never going to be a pleasant experience for me. And I didn’t know how to act around them.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that I’d asked a couple of people about what removal men might expect and was given answers along the lines of “don’t worry, it’s fine, they’ll just want to get on with the job.”.
First thing they wanted was a cup of tea. I was completely unprepared for the request. I don’t use milk or sugar, so didn’t have anything like that handy. They basically told me to go to the shop and get some. I didn’t feel I could refuse – as I’d obviously done something wrong by not having the right tea-making equipment in the flat – so ended up having to walk about 20 minutes to get milk and sugar, with my joints playing up and dosed up on fairly strong painkillers.
I could have refused, I suppose. But I don’t know what the implications of that would have been.
The moving noise was also stressful. The crashing and banging of furniture. The anxiety that things wouldn’t survive the move in one piece.
Ended up basically curled in a ball on the floor once they’d cleared the bedroom, just because it was the only place that felt vaguely safe.
I am not moving again. At least, not as long as I don’t have anyone to help me on the day.
There’s probably no reason to move: I already love my new place. Although there are still a lot of boxes, as I wasn’t able to do that much unpacking yesterday. I had intended to do more, but I was so overwhelmed by the rest of the day (and in so much pain) that I couldn’t do much more than sort the bedroom out and then rest.
And it is such a relief to have somewhere of my own (well, the bank owns most of it at the moment, but still…). Somewhere that I can make a proper home. Somewhere where – provided I pay the mortgage – I can’t be asked to leave on someone else’s whim. I hadn’t realised how much stress renting a flat was placing on me. And I don’t have to obsess about pensions (in a non-work capacity!) any more: as long as I’ve paid off the mortgage by the time I retire I’ll be OK.
Even though I haven’t finished unpacking, it already feels like home. I don’t think I’ve ever had that before. It’s a nice feeling.
I’ve realised while writing this how much I’ve started to put down roots here. Which is also good thing, and something I haven’t had before. Now I just need some more people in my life to make sure the seedling grows up to be healthy. Although I don’t have a good track record with plants…