10 pounds of sh** in a 5 pound bag

I hate moving. Like I REALLY hate moving! I lived in one place for almost 30 years, divorced, moved to an apartment, stayed a year–didn’t care for apartment life–moved to an older rental home, owner died, family wanted house back. Moved to yet another rental, stayed one year, family who rented the house lived in Austin, decided they wanted to move back to Louisiana and wanted their house back. Gave us a full week’s notice. Now take note…at this point the house is 3300 sq ft and fully furnished. I had to find another house quickly, smaller of course, so a LOT of the stuff from big house went into storage. With me so far?

Now we come to house 3. Lived there 2 1/2 years, owner decides they no longer want to live where they are now and want to come back ‘home.’ Home being the house I was, at the time, living in. At least we were given three months notice this time. After this I said ENOUGH WITH THE RENTALS!!!

So I had a house built. During the build, of course, everything in house 3 has to go into storage because I refused to rent another house, even short term and fortunately have a good friend who allowed me to stay at a hotel for free for however long I needed.

Well, the house is done, but the moving in has been never-ending. So many storage units to go through, trying to figure out what goes, what stays, it all feels impossible at times. Because I don’t like garage sales, I can tell you friends and Goodwill sure did well after this final move. All that said and aside from the moaning and groaning, at least this is the end of the road. The next time I move, it’ll be to the cemetery! YAY!

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