A Song About Moving

So the moving people who have all of our stuff, including our computers with our hard drives containing all of the data we need in order to work with our existing freelance clients, these movers, these people who hold hostage my lovely velvet couch and my summer clothing with the pretty delicate stitching and every journal I’ve kept since I was four years old, even the one where I write all of my R’s backwards, they haven’t arrived in Utah yet. They were supposed to be here last Wednesday, and then they said Friday, definitely Friday, but then all of a sudden it would have to be Sunday, no later than Sunday.

Well, by my calculations, Sunday was yesterday, and we haven’t heard a single word from these terrorists. And I know I should just be patient and that other people in this world have it much, much worse. But I haven’t told you the part about how these mover people said it was going to cost one thing, but really, in real life, it’s going to cost us triple that one thing. And it wouldn’t be so bad if, say, that one thing had been $6, because then we’d only have to pay $18. But let’s suppose, and I’m only supposing here, that the one thing was actually $1800. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a spare $5400 in coinage just lying around, in the pockets of my pants and in the cup holder of my car, it’s just going to be a bitch to gather it all up and count it.

Then there’s the part where they charged us an extra $700 for packing supplies, after we’d packed up everything that we thought was packable. I guess everything we thought was packable didn’t include everything, because people, they packed everything. They put our 11 foot by 4 foot bedroom rug into a box. They put the futon matress into a box. They put boxed-up books into another fucking box.

So I’m trying to remain calm. I’m trying not to react as violently as I did when the locksmith came to open the storage unit that morning in Los Angeles, and after three days of not sleeping and three days of my dog not eating and three days of putting my entire life into small cardboard boxes, I took a look inside that storage unit, realized that we had an entire other apartment to put into small cardboard boxes, and collapsed into a twitching, drooling and writhing beast.

But if these mover people don’t call within the next 30 seconds, and I’m counting down right now, they are so gonna wish that they hadn’t encountered this volatile former Mormon from Memphis who isn’t so concerned about her eternal salvation and whether or not God is watching.