moving day

Grey and tangled.

For months I have been anticipating/dreading the moment when the moving truck would rumble up my street, and when it finally came, it felt like the judgment day and I was a sinner. In typical fashion I had prepared the house and packed everyone else's things before my own, which meant I was literally throwing things in a suitcase in my room as the movers were waiting outside in the hallway. And they were not amused. All day I ran up and down the stairs, all around the house, fielding questions as the five stone-faced movers plowed through.

Up until this point I made it a priority to be meticulously organized, but this day was like an ink splotch on my careful caligraphy. I managed to lose my cellphone charger, my ipad charger, and my car keys, all in one morning. By the end of the day I was so drained physically and emotionally I felt ill.

The image that keeps returning to my mind is of the proverbial wheel of time. I'm like a pebble caught in the treads; I've been picked up, and I'm rolling forward, ready or not.

What an ordeal it is to move! By the end of day two as I waved them goodbye with the last of my worldly possessions I felt like I deserved some kind of award, and yet people do this all the time. How?