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I live on a hellmouth
Aug. 2nd, 2014 01:07 pmSoooooooo... if/when we move again, I'm going with the option with a big friggin' garage that I can just put shit into until we need it because this move damn near broke my brain.
I'm not sure where I left off... so we'll generalize. Tuesday, I think, is the day the boy finally moved his dresser out. And by he, I mean I had to help lift it. For my trouble I got hit in the face with the dresser. It was an accident though. The boy did exactly one run of things with the truck Mom rented and then he disappeared. With the truck.
Yeah.
Wednesday we should have been down to NOTHING LEFT but weren't and Mom was freaking out so I called Cass on my way to sleep and begged her to help. She said she would send her husband but I guess we ended up with both of them. I dunno, I had to sleep for work. It was very kind of her and they definitely made things easier.
Thursday is the kind of day you kind of immediately begin to forget because it sucked in so many different ways. It was the move that would not end. I misheard the boy when he called me AT WORK to tell me to have Mums pick him up at 2:30. I thought that meant from work but no. So Mom was gone for two and a half hours of uselessness which basically put us that far behind and with no boy picking up his stuff, either. When I realized this, I called out of work. Then Widget decided not to go to his mother's that day after all because they weren't moving til next week and oh, yeah, despite the fact that she sees him maybe once a month during the months she remembers he exists, she wanted to go out to dinner alone with her abusive jackhole of a husband, leaving the kid alone.
You're fabulous, lady. Don't ever change. Y'know, except for that whole "change everything" kind of deal.
Annnnnnyway. I thought that around 8ish we were almost done. We didn't finish until 1:30am and that was only because I started throwing shit in bags and said, "fuck it, don't care, they're gonna replace the carpet anyway."
To be fair, I tried really hard on the other carpets but it was pouring all afternoon and that's the door everyone walks in and out of so the mud was already ruining any headway I might've made.
As soon as we hit the sweet, sweet scent of freedom, the boy arrives and blows his top because "All my stuff got thrown out! Why's it just MY stuff?"
...Just your stuff, sir? There are two parking spots filled with trash and giveaway things and it's just YOUR stuff being ditched? No.
The only things he mentioned by name during this were the weed wacker (which he hadn't said a thing about previously) and this heavy ass trunk from Widget's room. The WW was scooped by someone else (and the boy could've taken it at ANY TIME over the last TWO MONTHS) but the trunk? still there. I checked on it religiously but we didn't have room for it in the car (too big) and I couldn't leave it in the house because I needed to clean the carpet under it. But I'll be damned if he didn't throw a hissy fit so big and loud that if Widget hadn't taken the baseball bat already, I probably would be in jail right now for assault.
You see, by this point I'd been awake for 28+ hours and worked all of them either at work or moving. He got some sleep and argh, I'm still so angry I can't even talk about it. He tried guilting me that I got to keep my one and only trophy and you know why, dumbass? Because I packed the damn thing and moved it my damn self! I didn't wait until after the lease had expired to come and try to sneak in and take it! He tried the whole, "well of course my shit's still here, I was busy moving all of your shit!" angle, only... no. Your shit isn't still here because I MOVED IT TO MY NEW PLACE. The rest is in storage that I'm paying for. WHAT THE FUCK.
He had nothing good to answer that with so he went back to guilt and rage and ugh, I'm tired of dealing with him because even when he's wrong, he still manages to make me feel bad.
Right up until I came over here and realized the next morning that we can't get to anything because all of his shit is in the way.
Yeah. I feel so bad that I didn't save that stupid weed whacker for you now. I mean, I only saved your clothes, your DVDs, your music, your everything else. But no. I'm the villain in this story.
Sadly, it goes both ways.
He left in a huff, not bothering to try and help, and slammed the door so hard I thought he was going to break it.
I still had to clean the carpet and mop the kitchen.
Yeaaaaaaaaahhhh... then, when we finally threw in the towel and gathered the pets up, Widget spent twenty damn minutes refusing to get in the car. Meanwhile I'm curled up in a very uncomfortable ball in the backseat with the cat carrier in my lap (and a huge bleeding wound down my arm because the cat is tired of her kitty condo being on the move) and the dog in the backseat next to me and I'm praying the dog doesn't realize there's a cat RIGHT THERE.
Ugh.
It was just a nightmare, really.
I slept most of yesterday away. They fixed the AC and it's new and we need a filter for it because the size they said it was? It is not. Dammit!
But I found the kitchen and that's really all that matters. Widget's room is good, the kitchen has been found, and tomorrow we assault my room and Mom's. Then maybe the living room?
I'm not sure where I left off... so we'll generalize. Tuesday, I think, is the day the boy finally moved his dresser out. And by he, I mean I had to help lift it. For my trouble I got hit in the face with the dresser. It was an accident though. The boy did exactly one run of things with the truck Mom rented and then he disappeared. With the truck.
Yeah.
Wednesday we should have been down to NOTHING LEFT but weren't and Mom was freaking out so I called Cass on my way to sleep and begged her to help. She said she would send her husband but I guess we ended up with both of them. I dunno, I had to sleep for work. It was very kind of her and they definitely made things easier.
Thursday is the kind of day you kind of immediately begin to forget because it sucked in so many different ways. It was the move that would not end. I misheard the boy when he called me AT WORK to tell me to have Mums pick him up at 2:30. I thought that meant from work but no. So Mom was gone for two and a half hours of uselessness which basically put us that far behind and with no boy picking up his stuff, either. When I realized this, I called out of work. Then Widget decided not to go to his mother's that day after all because they weren't moving til next week and oh, yeah, despite the fact that she sees him maybe once a month during the months she remembers he exists, she wanted to go out to dinner alone with her abusive jackhole of a husband, leaving the kid alone.
You're fabulous, lady. Don't ever change. Y'know, except for that whole "change everything" kind of deal.
Annnnnnyway. I thought that around 8ish we were almost done. We didn't finish until 1:30am and that was only because I started throwing shit in bags and said, "fuck it, don't care, they're gonna replace the carpet anyway."
To be fair, I tried really hard on the other carpets but it was pouring all afternoon and that's the door everyone walks in and out of so the mud was already ruining any headway I might've made.
As soon as we hit the sweet, sweet scent of freedom, the boy arrives and blows his top because "All my stuff got thrown out! Why's it just MY stuff?"
...Just your stuff, sir? There are two parking spots filled with trash and giveaway things and it's just YOUR stuff being ditched? No.
The only things he mentioned by name during this were the weed wacker (which he hadn't said a thing about previously) and this heavy ass trunk from Widget's room. The WW was scooped by someone else (and the boy could've taken it at ANY TIME over the last TWO MONTHS) but the trunk? still there. I checked on it religiously but we didn't have room for it in the car (too big) and I couldn't leave it in the house because I needed to clean the carpet under it. But I'll be damned if he didn't throw a hissy fit so big and loud that if Widget hadn't taken the baseball bat already, I probably would be in jail right now for assault.
You see, by this point I'd been awake for 28+ hours and worked all of them either at work or moving. He got some sleep and argh, I'm still so angry I can't even talk about it. He tried guilting me that I got to keep my one and only trophy and you know why, dumbass? Because I packed the damn thing and moved it my damn self! I didn't wait until after the lease had expired to come and try to sneak in and take it! He tried the whole, "well of course my shit's still here, I was busy moving all of your shit!" angle, only... no. Your shit isn't still here because I MOVED IT TO MY NEW PLACE. The rest is in storage that I'm paying for. WHAT THE FUCK.
He had nothing good to answer that with so he went back to guilt and rage and ugh, I'm tired of dealing with him because even when he's wrong, he still manages to make me feel bad.
Right up until I came over here and realized the next morning that we can't get to anything because all of his shit is in the way.
Yeah. I feel so bad that I didn't save that stupid weed whacker for you now. I mean, I only saved your clothes, your DVDs, your music, your everything else. But no. I'm the villain in this story.
Sadly, it goes both ways.
He left in a huff, not bothering to try and help, and slammed the door so hard I thought he was going to break it.
I still had to clean the carpet and mop the kitchen.
Yeaaaaaaaaahhhh... then, when we finally threw in the towel and gathered the pets up, Widget spent twenty damn minutes refusing to get in the car. Meanwhile I'm curled up in a very uncomfortable ball in the backseat with the cat carrier in my lap (and a huge bleeding wound down my arm because the cat is tired of her kitty condo being on the move) and the dog in the backseat next to me and I'm praying the dog doesn't realize there's a cat RIGHT THERE.
Ugh.
It was just a nightmare, really.
I slept most of yesterday away. They fixed the AC and it's new and we need a filter for it because the size they said it was? It is not. Dammit!
But I found the kitchen and that's really all that matters. Widget's room is good, the kitchen has been found, and tomorrow we assault my room and Mom's. Then maybe the living room?