Malone has PMS – Post Moving Shock

I’m sitting in my old house surrounded by bin liners of belongings that didn’t make it to the new home. These are the reject belongings that I will promise to eBay but then end up in the charity shop because I can’t be bothered to take pictures or work out the postage. There is so much stuff left at my old house I might need a van just to get me to Oxfam.

I’m so tired from moving house I’m considering making the filled bin liners into a black plastic pillowy bed. I don’t know where to start on the mess, I feel overwhelmed. I now have two homes that are carnage. One is the new house full of boxes that need unpacking and one is the old house full of bags and boxes that need to disappear.

Without a magic wand, I still have much work to do. But I’ve got PMS: Post Moving Shock. I’m walking around like a zombie, I can only cook ready meals, and I’m having to buy new knickers because it’s easier than finding mine. I never want to move again. I might need therapy to do so again.

My mind is scarred of last week’s lifting and pulling and pushing chest of drawers into lifts, then running up the three flights of stairs to open the lift. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. The lift is tiny, most furniture had to be carried up the stairs. I felt bad I was hogging the lift; elderly ladies had to use the stairs…
Everybody in the building welcomed us, one neighbour brought us tea and another told me to keep the door locked as he had been burgled. Six years ago. They left his electrical goods but stole his healing crystals and tried to snort Cumin off the kitchen surface. Brighton burglary… the police must have been looking for a suspect sneezing with spicy red eyeballs and “a great aura”.

The flat is beautiful, I can’t believe it’s my home to live in. I feel like I’m living in a hotel, I’m waiting for check out time. Everything has a place in my new home. Even the vacuum cleaner is happy, curled up in its cubbyhole in the airing cupboard. It’s so sunny and bright I feel like I’m on holiday (then I remember all the work I have to do) and that I have no idea where anything is.

Last night I made an entire dinner using a cheese slicer. I’ve learnt that a cheese slicer makes an excellent sweet potato peeler and can if needed, double up as a server, stirrer and all round poker of boiling food. On the first night we ordered a pasta delivery, and ended up asking the neighbour for a fork. I look around my old home, on my bin liner bed. I’m probably sitting on the forks right now… Luckily I’ve no Cumin to pack; seems it attracts the wrong types in my new area.