Much earlier in the year, my husband and I decided it was time to move back to our home state. We’d had a lovely time in Cali, but anyone who has ever been there knows that it’s ridiculously expensive and we were beginning to feel like we weren’t actually getting anywhere in life. Sure, life’s great when it’s all video games and fun times, but after a while even that can stagnate.
So, in March, I began looking for a new job. I think it’s very telling about the economy that it took me until late August before I got any bites. (For those who are interested, I am an Aerospace Engineer – i.e. I design, build, test and launch satellites. I am, luckily, extremely marketable.) Then there were interviews and multiple programs to consider and so forth, and time went on, as it does, and I found myself looking at a start date at the new job of November the 1st.
See the problem?
Anyone who has ever moved ever knows it sucks. Anyone who has ever moved across state lines knows it sucks even more. We’d done it once, when we’d moved to California initially, but since then we’d acquired a lot more crap, an antique violin (oh, the violin. Stories about that later), and a cat, all which would somehow have to come with us.
I have a fairly predictable yearly writing schedule. I do Nano. I finish the Nano (usually several months later). I edit an older book, I work on serial and/or co-authored books. Normally October is used for getting things in order and planning out that year’s NaNovel. Sure, I thought, it sucked to be moving the weekend before Nano and starting a new job, but hey, I should be okay.
I would like to go back in time and shoot September!me.
It’s been awhile since I moved. I forgot that packing takes for-freaking-ever. Then everything’s got to be loaded on a truck (someone else did this for us, thankfully) and trucked off over two mountain ranges and you discover that there’s stuff you wish you had with you but too bad because it’s in Nevada now and your cat wonders where all the stuff went and if this is all a clever ploy to get her to the vet. (Also, have you ever taken a cat on an airplane with you? Good stuff.)
So then when we finally made it here, cat, violin, and all, we don’t actually have anywhere to live. So we’re living in a hotel. A tiny, 400 square foot hotel room with two stove burners that are somehow supposed to be useable (and yet a full dishwasher that serves no purpose because you’ve got a grand total of 10 dishes) that is slowly driving all three of us insane from cabin fever, because we also don’t really know what to do or where to go or who to see and so we spend every night in the hotel room, staring at the odd one-armed couch and wondering if it will come to life and consume us.
So, hey, we thought we’d buy a house. We can do that now that we no longer live in California. Have you ever bought a house? The amounts of paperwork needed is insane. I think we’ve singlehandedly taken out an entire forest.
Now we’re dealing with house-buying (inspections, appraisals, shopping for needed appliances, etc), moving (changing addresses, trying to convince IT that I no longer live in California and that calling my old work number will get them nothing), trying to learn a new job (Oh God what have I done?) AND I’m trying to do Nanowrimo around all that.
And you know what? I’m more or less where I normally am.
Admittedly there have been unusual snags, but it turns out that there’s still enough time to bang out a couple thousand words in between trying to change the closing date, trying to learn new terminology for a new satellite, and attempting to make tacos on what the hotel is calling a “stove.” And the writing is relaxing. It gives me control over something when it feels like everything else is spiraling into chaos.
So all in all, it could be worse. But I wouldn’t want to do it again anytime soon.
Where Landsquid Fear to Tread 