My move happened a day early, due to an impending snowstorm. We made it work, and on the first day of Spring, met our neighbors while shoveling snow from the driveway. So, we have a pretty cool moving story to begin the book of memories we'll create in our new home.

What won't be included in the book is my mental state for the past week. The disruption of my physical things was more upsetting than anticipated. Add in a disrupted routine -- scouting out a new route for my morning walk with the dog, not being able to locate favorite shoes or clothes, stepping over boxes in every room -- and I have been a surly person and partner. 

I KNOW the chaos is temporary, but my brain just wouldn't stop turning it over and over and over. My partner called me out on it last night, and rightfully so. I don't want to be medicated right now, and am trying natural alternatives to alleviate anxiety. More sex, more exercise, an occasional drink. I think I'm winning? 

The boxes are being emptied and removed bit by bit, I found a great walking route this morning, my guy has proved more handy around the house than I ever would have imagined, and all of our old-but-good major appliances are running like champs. 

And, having lived in a townhouse for the past 10 years, I had forgotton the victorious feeling of getting the trash to the curb seconds before the truck comes. I did that this morning. I rule. 

I am moving next week for the first time since 2004. This is a happy thing and an exciting time dampened only by the humiliation and judgment that accompany accepting financial help from a family member. Otherwise, yay! For the first time in my 42 years, I will own a single home. Bonus: I'll be sharing it with someone I love deeply, his son (at least in the months of December and July), 2 cats, and a dog. So, we are packing.

This is difficult for me, a person who is sensitive to surroundings, comfort, and having my "things" nearby. The disorder, disarray, and extra dust flying around have me and my partner sneezing and snapping ever-so-slightly at each other. The furkids have a constant expression that can be interpreted as, "Please don't leave me here," "Please don't put me in a box (dog)," or "Please, put me in a box! (cat)." 

In acknowledging the stress this packing and moving process puts me under, I am hoping to contain the more irrational and emotional reactions that tend to be my defaults. Success varies by the hour. In the midst of packing hell, I did smile at a surprise last night: when cleaning out the contents of a low corner cabinet into which things seem to disappear (Honey, did you know we have a food processor?!?!?), I found the lid to an adorable little plastic container that fits a perfect cup of ..... whatever. The lid has been missing for sometime; turns out it was there all along, just waiting to be rediscovered.