Seems like a year since I wrote anything, but that’s because my schedule is all fnarkt.  It’s a little difficult to maintain a routine when one main facet of it is gone.  I’ve been trying to pretend I’m on vacation, but one downside of adulthood is that it gets harder to buff the rust off one’s disbelief suspension.

Via the wonders of the Innerwebz and the majick that is Google Earth (have you used this?  It’s AWESOME), the missus and I have been hunting apartments in Albuquerque (and is “Albuquerque” the only word in existance that contains two “q”s and three “u”s?  It used to be “AlbuRquerque”, as in Francisco Fernández de la Cueva, 8th Duke of Alburquerque, the founder of the city of Albuquerque, but for some reason they dropped an “r”, and okay, no more parenthetical asides this long or containing this many commas), and have managed to decide upon one main candidate and a couple of alternates.  All are near the foothills of the Sandias and all have decent ameneties.  We have also decided to manage the move via one 16-foot rental truck and a car trailer, with the addition of two hired loaders on this end and a pair of UNloaders in ABQ (the little woman isn’t physically capable of helping me carry the heavy stuff down a flight of stairs OR up a flight of stairs to the new place; I suggested that, just this once, we could lease a ground-level unit, but she has security anxieties and my suggestion of simply scattering thumb tacks around the doors and windows at night was met with that slight shake of the head and roll of the eyes that has always served as our particular means of silent communication).  I hire labor for moving because I can never bring myself to ask friends; why ask people to do things you KNOW they’ll hate?  Doesn’t seem very friendly, nome sane?

I’m trying mightily to maintain a positive attitude about this adventure, but I get tunnel-vision something fierce when it comes to moving; I mean I have been known to draw diagrams, even.  With a little imagination I can see myself shoving little shipping cartons around a huge table-top diagram of each apartment like I’m Patton preparing to head off a bulge.  The packing itself is merely a tedious slog, and the loading I leave to alleged professionals, but in this case we’ll have to drive the truck and THAT fills me with dread.  Twenty-two hours of driving almost 1400 miles to an unfamiliar city, and towing a car yet.  What if I underestimate the length of the trailer when I change lanes, and scrub someone off the freeway?  What if I stop for fuel (that will cost nearly $500 for the trip, by the way), and get the box stuck because I didn’t have the necessary clearance?  Do we dare to afford ourselves a night in a motel and run the risk of our stuff getting stolen in the night?  Add to all this the thrilling prospect of transporting three cats (once we’ve cornered them and wrested the broken bottles from their paws).  Every worst-case scenario comes lurching and slavering up from the inky depths.  If I allow it, this stuff will drive me mad, which in turn will drive my wife mad, and her brand of madness is the-very-earth-split-asunder variety.  It is in my best interest to find a happy damned place with this whole process, or I may find myself on the side of the road in the desert watching the truck pull away in a cloud of disgusted dust.

Actually, that doesn’t really sound bad at all.  I like to walk.

I had an idea to try to earn some extra cash for the trip (and beyond) by writing a series about this whole relocation business and submitting it to Associated Content.  I wrote a first chapter and submitted it for review…and that was most of two weeks ago.  I’ve not seen or heard a thing.  This does not inspire confidence.  Ah well.  I’ll be researching other alternatives, and at the least I can chalk it up to gaining experience.  In the meantime we’ll fax off the leasing application to the first-choice apartment community in Albuquerque on Monday and start sifting CraigsList for packing materials.  We’ll keep you all posted on our progress.  If any.


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