The journal out of Atlanta--9/30/05

This has been the most stressful, expensive and traumatic move of my entire life. Instead of the normal time drag and endless hassles, it all happened in an intense rush. (I remember my previously worst move--the one to Ghana. I spent a good month crying and screaming every day, and then a good few weeks in pure shock.) I have literally been on the tipping edge of a nervous breakdown for three entire days. Tuesday was the least awful--we packed and packed but of course, we didn't do enough or get rid of enough or prepare enough.
The real onslaught came on Wednesday. We arrived at the Penske truck place and waited over an hour for the owner to arrive. (He was stuck in traffic.) I saw the 16 foot van we had reserved and the accompanying poster claiming it held "2-3 rooms" and freaked the hell out. We have six rooms and five closets! It will not fit! Oh my god! We are totally fucked! We need a bigger truck! We are doomed! I barely kept the rage and fear in check. The owner and Jeremy urged me to use the 16 foot truck instead of the 20. If we moved to a bigger size, we would use twice the gas and slow down even more, as well as pay more for the truck rental. (They didnt have a bigger truck anyway.) I relented, and began a three-day run of the worst panic attack ever. Poor Jeremy. I'm sure he wanted to strangle me. I wanted to strangle myself.
We drove home and the two of us spent the next eight straight hours loading 3/4ths of the truck by ourselves. We wedged crap into every nook and cranny, filling it to the ceiling. Despite dealing with her own move the next day, Christy stopped by at 5:30, bless her heart, and helped disassemble bookshelves. She also dropped off an air mattress for us since we'd already packed our bed.
We slogged to Asada to see friend Keith, another fellow Noodlehead and current bartender, and had a wonderful, awe-inspiring dinner (with creme caramel and mango margaritas.) We looked like zombies, Im sure--exhausted, physically beaten, but happy with a good meal.
That night, I barely slept. Jeremy snored, Squeak chirped and I had visions of piles of stuff that wouldn't fit in the truck. Despite Jeremy's constant promises of "It will all fit" and "we will be okay" and "breathe, damn you," I couldn't stop the hamster wheel in my head. I devised alterior plans. We could return the tow dolly and rent a hitchable trailer to pull behind the car. We could rent an additional van or SUV to fill. I could be hospitalized when I flipped my lid. They could all work.
Thursday morning, we surveyed the piles in every damn room and my freakout continued. I tried to stay positive. We filled the truck at noon and could barely close the door.
At noon, we paused for one last goodbye at the Your Dekalb Farmer's Market, then returned to clean. We knew we could fill the car with our remaining items, but we still had so much left. Fueled by anxiety, we emptied the first rooms at 2 pm--the bedroom, the closets. Then the kicthen, the office. At 3 pm, all that existed were the car-piles stacked against the living room wall. I vacuumed countless roach corpses, and Jeremy yanked the carpet cleaner across our floors. Then we washed walls, filled nail holes, scrubbed floors. Dear Leah stopped by at 5 to help shred paper and sweep the entry. While I ran an errand, Jeremy finished the carpets.
After we dropped off the shampooer, we faced our last task. Filling the car. Here's the process: we needed to turn the truck towards Webster, pull the hitch and attach it to the truck. Then we had to drive the car onto the hitch, lock it into place and fill it. I misplaced the directions, then lost my keys for the 100th time, then battled with Jeremy until we finally got the car on correctly just as the sun went down.
When I walked in the house to grab the first load, it hit me full force. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. WE ARE LEAVING. We are leaving our home for over six years. We are leaving now. I totally lost it. Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed and carried load after load into the car. We filled the truck, the back seat, the floor, the front seat, the dashboard, and still we had too much shit. We'd already given away or dumped two bookshelves, a cooler, tons of food. Now we jettisoned plants, flower pots, our grill, crates and pails, a bike, the dishpan, and all of the plants we'd wanted to take with us from our big garden. I could barely breathe. Jeremy was the only calm thing keeping us on track. I just cried and cried. Up to that point, I'd been so focused on my own bitterness and boredom with Atlanta. I wanted to go home. I hated the traffic and the heat and the roaches. I hated my job and people and was just a big crabby babyhead. I never stopped to think what moving actually meant or what we were leaving. Our friends, our routines, our favorite places, a stable financial situation--were all going away.
Jeremy tried to fill the cooler with perishables, but it was also full. He asked, "Do we have a plastic bag? I need a bag." I stood at the base of the stairs, surrounded by our empty house, and hysterically screamed, "Please stop asking me about plastic bags or I will lose my mind!" He held me while I wept, and transformed into Julie the Basketcase.
For two days Squeak had been hiding in the kitchen cabinets. He was as big of a mess as we were. We wrangled him into the carrier and climbed into the van.
Jeremy drove and between us we had wedged in the cooler, the litter box, the cat carrier, the back pack and CD holder. On my lap was a paper bag full of snacks, a basket, a laundry basket full of dirty clothes to wash at Kim's, an empty suitcase we hoped to stash at Kim's and me. Jeremy tried to reason with me--we can't drive with all of this shit in the cab. I just cried. Squeak mewled. All of us felt miserable.
It was late-we were supposed to be at Kim's by 7 pm--dear friend who hosted us the last time we left down and conveniently located on a street where we could park a 16 foot truck with a tow dolly filled with a car. Kim met us with patience and wine and smiles. Squeak hid under the bed, I finally stopped crying and we went out for pizza. Somehow I kept it together while we ate. I just felt so fragile and sad and overwhelmed. I really didnt process any of this. I'm leaving and I don't know when I'm coming back.
TO BE CONTINUED...........