The trauma of the Big Move has subsided, pretty much. I promised to talk about the pros of moving and living where I do now, and so it shall be done.
Money
I have mentioned that the speed at which I am getting out of debt is really awesomely fantastically great. I get really Christmas-morning-level excited at the thought of being in the clear.
Oh, and god, having access to disposable income from time to time is making me a happier person. I just read my blog posts from the past few years and my grinding poverty was mentioned so many times. The pressure has been off and I feel like I can breathe, think clearly, and plan again.
My Roommate
After the first rocky few weeks, my elderly relative and I have settled in pretty well. He has dementia, so it’s a continual, slow-motion roller coaster ride when it comes to his state of mind. It’s nothing too freaky, and I’ve just learned to roll with it, reassure him whenever necessary, and lock my bedroom door (he forgets I’m there at times and likes to cheerfully BARGE! in every once in a while.) As challenging as the whole caregiving thing can be, it is one of the best things I’ve ever done. 99.9% of the time, he is the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, most appreciative human ever. A dear.
One of the harder things to figure out was activities — things that he and I could do together that was the right balance of easy/challenging for him, but something that wouldn’t make me freak out with boredom. Hence, we have discovered coin rolling (see the photo, above). He used to be a bank teller, and his muscle memory is still completely there — I set him in front of a pile of coins and some wrappers and he is a machine, so much better at it than I am. Once we rolled up the coins in the house, I appealed to some friends, who gave us a boatload of coins to process. Count, stack, roll, bam, done. We could start a business.
A Vacation from my Crap
Having a majority of my possessions packed away is so delightfully out of sight, out of mind. I secretly wish my storage unit would just combust in the night … how much of it would I miss, anyway? These stupid, stupid boxes of nothingness that follow me through my life, like malevolent ducklings. Ducklings that are even more malevolent than regular ones.
Project De-Golden-Girls-ification
My mom lived in the house that I reside. Very little has been done to the decor since she’s died (my Elderly Relative couldn’t care less about that kind of stuff), so the whole place still bears her stamp. Years ago mom had a snappy design style, ethnic and dramatic, but then she kind of descended into mauve-y, fake flowers-y, Senior-Living-y blah-ness. I have been having a field day, pruning the fake flowers, putting the hideous faux-Tiffany lamps into storage, hiding the dolphin wall hangings. I take care not to make any huge or sudden changes (in order not to disorient Elderly Relative), but a little pizazz has been injected into the proceedings, if you get me.
New Girl, New Town
I’m a little farther from my place of work, but I am enjoying reacquainting myself with this city. I am near several decent Asian restaurants (hallelujah), a bunch of waterfronts that I can powerwalk on, and some little-known thrift store awesomenesses.
‘Hood
This is what I heard from my old apartment:
- The constant rumble of the freeway
- The slamming of the goddamn pool gate
- My neighbors yelling
Now, I hear:
- Sounds from the nearby naval base — “Reveille”, “Taps” and those chanty things that soldiers sing when they march around
- Tweets and chirps
- The morning routine of my be-sweatered neighbors as they walk their tiny dogs, greet each other, and comment on the weather. It’s so wholesome that I feel like I’m on a movie set.