Peter flew in last Thursday and we packed my place up and out into storage over the weekend. At the last minute, and due to being blindsided by a threat where my leaving town last weekend would have potentially jeopardized unemployment benefits,
we Peter decided it’s best that I don’t leave yet. I was against the idea and just wanted to GO, but it was a wise decision and I’m glad he insisted.
He booked a return flight late at night, just before falling asleep, had the wrong day in his head, which then was in my head… missed his flight (no confirmation/reminder email was sent) but didn’t know until he was looking to see what time his flight was for “tomorrow.”
It was for the best, that extra day, as all previous were jam-packed with stress and peppered with mini-meltdowns (mine) because I haven’t been feeling 100% and was over-exerting myself. Heavy thing rolls over toe? Brain takes a trip to Mars and back for 5 minutes in a near-blackout. Arms give out carrying something awkward and heavy? Holding back tears. Apartment almost empty, body aching, spine feels like it’s split in half… nothing soft to sit on while eating take-out at 3:30 am? Crying.
Coordinating a move-out, postponing a relocation, and juggling healthcare and unemployment in one state while seeking to remedy both in another state = challenging to work through. Shit has never been so serious in any of my previous (and whim-based) relocations. We thought we’d have summer in New York together, but that isn’t quite what’s happening — even if I get there in a week, he’s away the remainder of July for studio work in Florida.
All that said, It’s nice to have the move-out behind us, and I’ve taken to eating my favorite things from my favorite restaurants in town, every day, and that’s been great. Make plans and the universe laughs. That’s the name of the game.