Last Friday I arrived in Charlottesville, VA where I will be starting graduate school at the University of Virginia in about a month.
If you have never been to Charlottesville, let me be the first to tell you that it is a great town. It is often described as having “small town feel with big city appeal”. Take that as you will, but I love it here. Being in Texas this past year has made me miss things like, oh, I don’t know…trees, and hills, and good places to eat.
Unfortunately, my furniture that was picked up to be shipped 19 days ago has not arrived yet. Actually, it hasn’t even left Texas. But I have been able to squat at a friend’s place while I postpone my settling-in to my new apartment.
Moving in to a new place, by the way, is great fun. People always say moving is no fun, but I hope they only mean “moving out” and “moving to” but not “moving in”. The first two are a pain, no doubt about it. I hate packing – even if it is just to spend the night at a friend’s house. Having to move ALL of my belongings is almost unbearable.
It is sad, first of all. With the removal or dismantling of each picture frame, book case, and home entertainment system, a little piece of me dies. I think, “Things are just the way I like them. Each thing has its proper place, and I don’t want to mess that up.”
Secondly, there is the frustrating ordeal of packing all of that stuff into boxes and/or your car or a moving van. I tend to over think something like this. I want to get the maximum amount of stuff into the minimum amount of space. It’s kind of like solving a puzzle, but eventually you get tired of it…and I never have enough room.
Finally, the actual moving from point A to point B is usually a drag. You are driving a vehicle filled with lots of stuff (and, therefore, consuming lots of gas), and this can hurt your wallet if it is a long trip (which mine was).
But once you get to your destination, then you can have fun. I know, I know: you have to unload everything. But this doesn’t take as long as packing does. And as soon as you start taking it out, you get the wonderful job of decided where it will go. You are making your new space, and it is going to be even better than the one before!
Been listening to this one a lot, pretty much the whole way through.
This novel was published after the Chilean-Mexican author's death, and I'm not even sure if it was entirely finished or not. It is broken up into five parts which, while connected, stand pretty much on there own. I have not yet made it to the grim part about the murders of hundreds of women in Mexico, so I have so far found it enjoyable and even funny despite some dark underpinnings. It's had a ton of critical praise, and I like it much more than my last foray into the violent novel genre: Blood Meridian.
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
Brock, if you need a place for a few days, I have a townhouse w/ a couple of guys down 5th street extended (exit 120 off 64), over by the food lion, waffle house, etc. that you can crash at if you want.
Give me a call.
- Hunter
man, I can’t believe my little brother has said that a little bit of him dies when his things are taken out of their “proper place.” You’re well on your way to old man weirdness, you know. Just wanted to point that out…
I always appreciate getting a comment. Thanks, Jennifer. However, I resent your accusation that I am descending into “old man weirdness”. You are one to talk with your perpetual retellings of days gone by. What would you call that? Would it be “crazy old woman weirdness”? Or maybe just “living in the past syndrome”?
In addition, I see your use of the phrase “old man weirdness” for what it really is: a thinly veiled attack of our dear Father. I hate to think what would happen if he knew you were littering the internet with your jaded perspective of aging men based on our loving Father’s idiosyncrasies…
Hold the phone! Am I really becoming Dad?
No, I call it “I have a memory” – unlike anything you will know when you complete your metamorphosis into our dear father. And why are you implying that there’s anything wrong with that? Dad knows that he’s special, and he embraces it. One day, you will too… because you won’t remember enough of the other side to be insulted by comments like mine.
Cheers.
Touché.