Moving on

"Moving on" after the move is proving to be more difficult than I’d thought.
I moved once before in my life : out of my parents’ house, into my Brussels’ apartment. And I remember those first months were tough. I missed my room, my cats, the garden, the smell of coffee in the morning, etc. But in the weekends, I could always return (and I did). It was all still there, waiting for me. When I moved to France for 6 months, the same was true for my apartment : it was still there, I could always go back whenever I wanted.

Now, big move number two has taken place : out of my Brussels’ apartment, into the new Brussels’ apartment with P. My old place doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s an empty place, four walls, waiting for someone else’s furniture. I can never go back – it’s gone, forever. This is a first-timer for me. And boy, am I having a hard time with it. I wake up at night crying because I feel so homesick. I drive aimlessly around because I feel I have no place to « go home » to. I feel as a visitor in the new place because it’s not giving me the feelings of warmth and safety that a home is supposed to give (also literally, as we’ ve been without any warm water or heating for two full days now…). I look forward to going back to work next week, simply because my old office feels more familiar than this living room I’m sitting in right now.

Yes, I know these things take time. And everybody keeps telling me that after a few months, this will feel like home. But right now, I’m so overwhelmed by all those other feelings, that’s it’s hard to believe this. I know all the « focus-on-the-positive-blah-blah » : I have a great apartment now, a big terrace, a fancy cooking island, P and I finally moved in together, we have a garage for the cars, etc, etc. Believe me, I try to focus on all of this. But it’s emotion-overload all over again. Uncontrollable, unstoppable, overwhelming sensitivity.

Am I crazy to have such a hard time with this ? Probably so. I see people all around me, moving from one place to another, from one country to another…without much effort, without anything more than the occasional little blues. I haven’t seen anybody completely out of balance because they moved to the other side of town. So yes, on top of everything else, I feel ridiculous, ashamed and clueless on how to deal with myself.
Some rest is much needed after this horrible summer of moves, hospitals and arguments. Going back to work next Monday might, ironically (and hopefully), do the trick.

Planet Hospital

After weeks on planet "Move", I've now continued my voyage through outer space to land on planet "Hospital" (planets "Holiday" and "Break" seem to be in another galaxy, or have disappeared into a giant black hole). Right after the final boxes were unpacked,my mom got a call to tell her that she was expected in hospital the very next day. So since Monday that's where I've spent 99% of my time. Surgery was on Tuesday, now we're on the road to recovery (hopefully).

Planet Hospital is not a very nice place to be, and I already had to face battle. I won't go into detail, but give just one clarrifying example of this war-zone. My mom was away for surgery for over 6 hours. And...no one could tell us how this went, or give us any feedback whatsoever. No one told us we could actually go and see her in the recovery room (we found out ourselves through the reception). We had to beg a nurse to write down my phone number, so that the doctor could call me later(he was again called away for an emergency). First, after more than six hours of waiting, we were bluntly told that this was "not done". No, we don't take phone numbers here. No, doctors don't call relatives who have been waiting for news whole day long. This was followed by a minor nuclear explosion on my side, some peace talks on P's side, and finally: victory, 'cause dear doctor did call to give the very long awaited feedback.

However, the war against the little (wo-)men in green continues, as painkillers are not working, fevers are "forgotten" and left untreated, and "within 10 minutes" can mean anything from "within two hours" to "not for today, maybe tomorrow".
Strange that it's those very same green (wo-)men that are actually saving my mom's life...

I survived

Barely. And that's really all there is to say about this move. Take it from me : moving from 3 apartments (my place, P's place - in storage, and the Barbizon place) to 1 is hell. I had to throw loads away (12 huge garbage bags, and still counting), I had to drive box after box back to my parents (who were not amused), and I still have a few boxes to "give away" (anyone in need of a toaster, a water cooker or a red flower vase?).
Forget all the romance about "moving in together". It was constant war: your vacuum cleaner or mine? Your coffee cups or mine? Your choice at IKEA or mine? Speaking of which, IKEA has seen me for breakfast, lunch and/or dinner this week. And if it wasn't IKEA, it was Mc Donalds. Strangely enough, I still managed to loose so much weight due to stairclimbing, lifting stuff, and simple stress, that I fit back into my oldest jeans.
No, it hasn't been nice. I have felt homeless, and so at loss that I wondered if I indeed was/ am authistic (as P claims from time to time). Maybe it was because this was my first apartment. Maybe because I've never done this before : leaving a place to never return there. Maybe because I couldn't take anymore emotional stress after all that has already happened this year. Maybe because I'm so attached to all the things I gattered through the years. Whatever the reason(s) : I can safely say that I never want to go through something like this again. Next time, I plan to outsource the whole business, and go on a holiday for two weeks. So basicaly, I'm not moving again until I can afford exactly that.... That, and already assembled furniture.

Moving madness, part II

For the second time in less than three weeks I’m on the hunt for boxes – now to empty my apartment in Brussels. If I thought the Barbizon-move was the « Mont Blanc » to climb, this one is going to be no less than Mount Everest.
I’ve got enough books to fill an entire small town-library, enough candles to lit a cathedral, and enough clothes to make the Salvation Army happy for at least five years. And just loads of « stuff » - there’s no other way to describe it. A coke can from our trip to Cuba three years ago. A twig with eucalyptus leaves from the Portuguese mountains. An empty wine bottle from that romantic dinner in Florence five years ago. A flyer from the ballet we went to for our one year-anniversary. The keycard from our very designy hotel in Copenhagen. And so one. (By now, you’re starting to understand why I get along so well with Phoebe, the hamster). Yes, I’m one of those people who keeps things, just because of the memory that’s attached to it. Restaurant tickets, some ten plastic Haagen-Dazs ice cream spoons, entrance tickets, Starbucks’ coffee cups with my name on it, etc : they fill up valuable storage space, with no other purpose but to do just that.
And now, decision-time has come : in or out. Part of me goes all sentimental and says : hey, I already have to leave my apartment – surely I’m allowed to keep all my things. Another part goes practical : time to clean up, and throw out all the clutter. The less there is to move, the better. This results in situations like the following : actually find the courage to throw away something. Five minutes later : run down the stairs, look left and right to see if there’s no one in the street, tear open my own garbage bag, dig into it, and retrieve the one item, that was, of course, on the bottom by now. And drag it back up to my apartment.
*Sigh*, four days left to get my entire life packed into boxes – wish me luck !

The following takes place between 12.20 AM and 2.30 PM

(imagine the bleeping soundtrack of « 24 » while reading)

12.20 AM
"P, stop showering and get dressed ! Asap !! There’s this really cool apartment I saw online, and the owner is still there for some 30 minutes. If we leave NOW, we can get there in time and visit it!!"
12.30 AM
P (still half wet) and N jump in the car and speed through town.
12.40AM
P and N have their first look at the place, and have what the French call « un coup de cœur »
1.00 PM
P and N go for a quick lunch, while doing nothing but maths to see if they can afford the parking place that can be rented with the apartment
2.00 PM
Visit of another apartment. Not worth mentioning after what we saw an hour earlier
2.30 PM
P and N decide and make the call : we take the apartment … and the parking place !

22.30 PM
Sitting on my couch, writing this, and still not able to believe it :-)

In the midst of moving-madness

Here I am, on the French National Holiday, sitting between some 20 boxes, blogging for the last time in Barbizon !
It’s unbelievable what one accumulates in only 10 months : books, plants, DVD’s, piles of food, some 20 Carrefour shopping bags (which come in useful right now !), uncountable brochures (from swimming pool opening hours to the Student guide for Paris), etc, etc. The fact that each time I went to Belgium, I brought some more stuff over to Barbizon, is not really helping us right now. Until this morning, I was confident that everything would easily fit into our two cars. Now, it seems that the next tenants will be spoiled with a functioning TV and oven/microwave. (I try to ban the thought that I’ll have to go through this again in a few weeks time, when we’ll have found an apartment, and I’ll have to empty mine).
All in all, I can’t really say that I hate packing. The practical hands-on stuff is helping me cope with having to say goodbye to the place. So that’s why I’ve been non-stop busy since the military parade was marching by on the Champs Elysées. It’s only when P and I stop for five minutes, and look at each other, that emotions just well up.
I guess this has been a special place for us. We lived together here for the first time, we had our worst fights here, our closest moments, and shared many an evening in the company of dear friends. It was our own little Bubble :-) , and I’ll really miss it.

Vélib'

On our last night out in Paris city, we decided we had to try at least once the public transport-bike system, i.e. “Vélib”. I was lucky and found a functioning bike immediately. P was less fortunate. A little overview of our bike-adventure
- First station, 2 bikes left. One for me (OK), the other one for P : oops, no tire at the back
- On to the next station : one bike left, but ah, alas : no chain
- On to the next station : ah, yes, a bike. We take it. Oops, flat tire. We drive to the next station
- The next station : card doesn’t work at this one. F***
- On to the next station : yess, one bike left! We take it, hmmm…tire at the back is as good as flat, but what the hell, we’ve almost reached our destination.
- Oops…no space left to park our bikes…But thank God, two guys just pass by and take two bikes out, so we’re saved.
And than I didn’t mention that at bike station nr1 we were surrounded by a youth gang, who were trying to take out the bikes we’d just paid for….
So, Vélib’ anyone? Yeah, well, *maybe* next time!