This morning there were two packers, three movers and two Santa Monica Luskeys in our one bedroom apartment by the beach. We watched as movers loaded our boxes into their 18 wheeler and held our breath as they wrapped each of our fragile items with care. They worked like machines yet somehow understood that although it was a job to them, this was our life they were handling.
The view of the inside of the moving truck!
Our car getting loaded onto a different truck!
Who needs stairwells when you can
just hoist things over the balcony?
He-Man just caught the couch and gently
set it onto the dolly. Amazing.
Moving was exhausting, exciting and a little bit sad. Today we became a little bit less Santa Monica and that's okay. We still have a going away party (and, ehem, a birthday) to celebrate and then we're off to the Lone Star State! Our apartment is now empty, I sit typing from our air mattress, the only remaining possession that is neither edible or wearable left in our keeping. Although I have to be careful not get bounced off the blob every time Brian makes a move, I finally feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be. And that, my dear, is excellent.