Saturday morning started with an argument. I've never moved house with the Long Haired Boy before and therefore I never knew he Hates Moving House. He hadn't really said so before - I should have taken the packing-everything-myself as a sign. I needed him to tell me what in the spare room was still on Trade Me vs going in the bin vs going in a box to go into storage that day. I needed to know these things so that a messy room in reality could be a room I didn't have to worry about in my head. I can't explain how that works. But without knowing that room was all sorted, even as Organised Chaos, I wouldn't have felt like we had everything covered.
Meanwhile, LHB needed a drink of water. He had just surfaced, he's not a morning person, and he's especially not a morning person without a glass of water first, followed by a coffee if at all possible. Just as he couldn't see inside my mind to know why I needed answers now, I couldn't see inside his head to know he wanted to go and get a drink. He got frustrated, I got upset, nasty words were said. Hello, Saturday.
Moving our stuff ended up being even more stress. I had everything packed, I've been sorting, selling, giving away and packing for literally 2-3 months and other than a couple of cupboards in the kitchen that I needed to get more boxes for, I thought everything was sorted. Mum had mentioned having a plan for everything, what stuff was going to my sister's house, what was going into her storage locker. She had also mentioned upgrading the storage locker to a bigger one. I took all of this as gospel but when it came down to it, there were a lot of questions - "Where's this going?" "I thought you knew?" throughout the day.
As the common denominator here, I feel perhaps communication isn't my strong point. I try to talk to people about issues, I try to get everything out and air cleared. I think I do it wrong.
With all the underestimated moving stress, we were running way behind our anticipated timeframes (borrowed Ute had to be back at 11, we finished moving at 5) and Izzy still had to go to Soul Buddy's. SB and her Mister ended up coming to pick him up and off he went, followed by a few tears and then a mad panic to get to Monty and Nurse B's going-away dinner, since along with us moving into their house this weekend comes them flying off to Africa.
The dinner was awesome, a lot of fun with awesome food and great company. SB sent me pxt's and texts all night to keep me updated on Izzy (he didn't miss me at all) and when Courtney's sister and I visited on Sunday morning all was good. He had been a little brat all night trying to escape and keep everyone awake but he was happy, they were happy. Now the other cats had to get used to him and we'd be away laughing.
I went home, did Miss Nails' backfill and then went to find my phone. SB had text, rather upset because her cats had had to be coaxed inside with tuna, then sprayed their territory and run away again. We all came to the conclusion that Izzy should have been segregated for awhile first to allow them to get used to the smell and introduce them all slowly, but that's not what happened, so now we need to deal with the situation. Izzy is shut in the spare room on his own. He is happy enough, he is a very chilled cat. But SB feels guilty that she has let me down, I feel guilty that I've stuck her with this mess, and I feel incredibly guilty about Izzy.
I know he's a cat and cats are resilient. But he trusted me, he chose to live with me, he let me cuddle him, he slept on my face (yeah, he does that). I was his owner and he trusted me and I let him down. Think me stupid for feeling this way but I do. I feel immensely bad, that someone, even if it is a fur, trusted me and I let them down. I felt the same way when my dog Holly died while being pet sit and I have felt the same way in human situations. I hate it, I hate letting people down, and I hate that I can't communicate with Izzy and explain to him why this is all happening and that it will all be OK in the end.
Will it though? We now have to find a new home for Izzy. The poor little fur has to deal with another new house, new family, possibly new pets to be introduced (slowly) to and another car ride. Monty and Nurse B have said there is potential he might be able to come with us after all. He wasn't originally because they have 2 cats and a dog and we are adding Toby to the mix and that is quite a lot of fur for one 3 bedroom house. Monty's cat Dee hasn't taken well to the blended-family vibe though and a month or so after moving into Nurse B's with Monty, still hasn't come out from under the bed. She doesn't like dogs. So Dee might be on her way to Monty's Mums house and that might mean Izzy can come with us and (slowly) meet Jimmy the dog and Njaro the kitten. If he can't, and at the slightest hint that he can't I won't take him, because Monty and Nurse B are doing us a big enough favour already, then I don't know what to do.
I was relying on there being a car to take Izzy to SB's house on Saturday and there wasn't, so they had to pick him up to allow him a full weekend to get used to everything with them at home. I relied on other people for the cars and therefore I let SB and Mister down when I couldn't meet my obligations of dropping him off. Everyone on moving day was bitching at me for not knowing where everything was going because I'm the organised one therefore I should know everything. I relied on Mum saying she had it sorted and by doing so I let Mum, her partner and Courtney down. I'm relying on Monty and Nurse B to look after not only Toby but us and now they might have to do even more by taking Izzy in. I hate relying on people and I hate that I'm putting my friends, who are doing us favours left right and centre, in these positions and letting them down.
It all came to a head when Courtney got home from one place en route to band practice, running late, and came home to me stressed about Izzy. I was extremely stressed and inconsolable and had no idea that he also was feeling a bit down. Queue another big fight, more tears, more blame and more nasty words and then an evening sat in bed, alone, with the laptop, not knowing how to install Digg buttons or anything else required for a successful blog, marvelling at how much more successful 'everyone else's blogs are, 'everyone else's relationships are and 'everyone else's lives are.
No one that writes a perpetual-travel blog ever tells you about the Mourning Period. They don't tell you that when everything is packed and all the furniture is in storage you grieve. LHB and I both feel sad and a little empty and we are probably taking it out on each other, unfairly of course. These big changes are supposed to be exciting, they lead to everything we have dreamed of, saved for and planned for in the last 6 months. Instead I feel like my little life that all my money and time and energy has gone into for the last 6 years is gone. My cat is gone, my stuff is gone and I'm living in a shell of a house waiting for that to be gone too. I want to be excited but instead all I feel like doing is throwing up and then curling in a ball and waiting for it all to sort itself out.
No one warned me it would be like this. But I guess that would be me relying on other people for warnings too, wouldn't it.
