Sick and Crabby Pants

By midnight on Friday, I had officially "had it" and broke down, not unlike a four year old. Rob sent me to bed and continued the last minute packing frenzy. He was up until four am. Moving day started early; Stu! came over to help with whatever and hang out which was good because I was starting to feel lonely. She came in and got teary eyed at the sight of my empty house.

The drive to our new apartment was long; there was a horrible traffic jam, the kind where you throw your car in park and get out to chat with the other drivers, the kind babies get born in because you're just so far away from making it to the hospital, and the kind that could cause people in a hurry to have a heart attack. We did the "go down the up ramp to get to another highway" thing, but the movers in their big truck couldn't do the same. We waited on them for about three hours.

There was a block party in full swing when we arrived, which we knew about and which we discussed with the organizer. She agreed our truck could come in if it was escorted (cars were banned from street parking), and it turned out to be a good thing; they were able to pull up right in front of the house and not be in anyone's way of parking (the incessant rap music was a bit grating after a while, though). Both of our big couches didn't fit into the living room.

The thing with the couches is that I'm in love with the cozy, friendly soft yellow couch we bought at a garage sale two years ago, and Rob is attached to his uncomfortable, ugly blue one that he got when he moved into his Connecticut apartment. We didn't think we'd have to choose between them because there is a living room and a den downstairs, so there was room for everyone. Now, though, they're both jammed into the small upstairs office, the only place we were able to wedge them in the apartment, and we're still figuring out what to do. It's quite the conundrum.

I had forgotten my contact solution in the old house, and Rob, being heroic, traveled all over Brooklyn looking for an all-night pharmacy for me. He got back home and woke me to take my contacts out. I fell back to sleep for another hour or so until the gurgling in my stomach forced me awake, and then I spent 45 minutes letting nausea wash over me while I tried to talk my body out of wanting to hurl.

It didn't work.

Rob was the only one in our family of five that didn't have some sort of tummy issue (Matty, Leeloo and I all threw up and Tino had "other problems"). I think its the stress of the move affecting me and the dogs, although I spent all day Sunday burning with fever so maybe it's just really bad timing for a summer malady.

Rob spent Sunday unpacking while I napped. I eventually felt well enough to venture to Target, which is much bigger and less organized than the Target I'm used to. Entire sections looked like a tornado had been ripped through them, and the selection on a lot of things was pretty terrible. The lines were long and people were crabby. I got home feeling exhausted.

The shower upstairs doesn't work, so I have to shower downstairs, but the toilet downstairs doesn't work so I have to run upstairs whenever I need to pee. It's really annoying. Between that, living out of boxes, the dogs being depressed and lost, trying to get the cable hooked up and having missed appointment after missed appointment, BOTH of our cell phones not working properly, the lack of couchy-ness in the living room and the excessive couchy-ness in the office where NO COUCHES SHOULD BE, the forgotten bag of "essential toiletries" that's sitting in Connecticut, and my being so, so ill, I'm really frazzled. I feel bad, too, because Rob is doing most of the work setting up stuff and unpacking, while I lay around useless.

I am crabby pants.