I began this moving adventure with very little help. I am short and I don't exactly have a body who enjoys living, much less a major move. A normal day ends with my body screaming at me. I had my mom who is recovering from back surgery, my brother who had a hurt knee, my 70 year old grandma (She's no Jack), and my ex, M. Despite the obstacles we had the truck packed in ten hours. Yes, I have that much
NYEBoy was suppose to have the office cleaned out, but due to him
By the time we arrived in Florida after spending the entire day before loading, then making that long ass drive, we decided to catch a movie Saturday night before crashing into the bed. Sunday I woke up feeling like we could unload the truck without hiring anyone and save a few bucks.
NYEBoy isn't exactly the poster child for fitness, so I knew I probably wouldn't get too much help, even though I really hoped I would be proved wrong. But, I wasn't. He huffed and puffed, so I got upset and told him I didn't need his help except on the big items. I practically unloaded the entire truck by myself cussing him out inside with every box I lifted up and down. But, I got it all done Sunday.
Everything is in the living room piled high staring at us. My body is exhausted. My ankles hurt so bad I nearly fell down the stairs, so now I have to walk backwards down them. I could hardly breathe when I woke up this morning from my back hurting so bad. I even debated going to find a doctor to see.
So, I am beginning our 'happily ever after' slightly resenting him for not helping me unload the truck or unpacking these boxes. I'll get this house looking like a home, eventually. I'm going to give myself until next Monday before I start working (from home!).