Gypsys, Tramps, and Me

We are in the middle of Move:2009. Please forgive the rawness of this article. My internet got shut off this morning and am flying without a net on the public computers at the library. Let the fun of moving begin.

I have moved quite a bit. So it isn't that I'm in any way unprepared or unable to deal with this move. I'm just rusty and out of resources. There was Move:2004, when I first came to Boston in an over-stuffed mini-van. Store:2005-2006 when I moved to U-Haul for a while which was a move with all the problems and none of the benefits. Then Move:2006 when I moved to Connecticut (which was the worst decision of my life). On the coat-tails of the Connecticut debacle came the big Move/Store/Break-up:2007 which lasted 5 months. Then Move:2007, Parts 3,4, and 5 where I finally landed in my current aparment, vowing to myself not to move again for two years, because I had been literally living out of a suitcase from September 1, 2005 to September 1, 2007.

So here we are. Move:2009. I decided to move a few months ago, because a gypsy like me has to uproot frequently to avoid insanity. In an ideal world, I would buy a camper van, put all my stuff in it, and rove the country like a free woman. However... I don't have a camper van. I have a twenty year old car that needs a great deal of engine overhaul. But she made the trip down to Tampa and back last week just fine. The old girl loves the highway. So does the car.

That's right. I said Tampa, aka Trampa. When I decided to move, naturally, I had no idea where the hell I would go. The world is my oyster, you know. But this pearl is broke. So my options at the moment are homelessness or moving home. It came down to the flip of a coin.

Since I cannot afford to hire movers and since my trunk only large enough to fit two bags of golf clubs, I have to sell everything I went broke for nesting in my big girl apartment. There are certain things that I refuse to part with and they are already safe and sound in Tampa. Again, the battle of burn the magazines or save the magazines rages on in my head. But I'm sure the magazines will triumph... yet again.

Dorthy clicked her fab red heels and found herself back in Kansas instantly. I have to drive cross-country alone three times over the course of a month, and my fab red heels are being boxed and sent in the mail. I guess Tampa's not as bad as Kansas. I mean, I've never been to Kansas. If I had that camper van, I could go and do a comparitive study. But I must stop thinking about that camper van. It's not like I can afford gas, anyways. But I could always predict people's futures.

Let's start by predicting my future: I will scramble til the last minute to get everything painted, cleaned, shipped, and sold. My car will break down on the way to Tampa- on an off-road, in the middle of the country, at night. I will piss myself when I remember that I forgot to pack my lead pipe. When I finally get to Tampa, I will be forced to resume working at the same jobs I held in high school- teaching swim lessons and filing orders at a carpet installation company. I will immediately regret my decision to move to Tampa and all previous decisions that led to said decision. I will enter a severe depression that leads to either an unwanted pregnancy, or an amazing novel.

Keep your fingers crossed I park my tush in front of the typewriter, and not on a bar stool. Or that I can teach enough swim lessons to buy that camper van.