Monday, March 25, 2013

When Perfect Timing is Actually the Worst Timing

Whose idea was it to put out a book on moving at the exact same time that I'm moving? This ranks up there with My Permed Bangs Calamity of 1984 in decisions I've made that seemed full of hope and light until it was too late.

My book, Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap and My Accent Helped Me Survive 9 Moves will be outdated before it sells a single copy. I'm moving again, which makes that 10 moves. Although that number is questionable, because I haven't decided whether I should count the move into my first house, the big blue farm house in Poland Township, Ohio, or if I should count all the places we rented before we became reluctant and weary homeowners.

I know it's not irony but it's something that my book is scheduled to come out of editing on Wednesday, the same day I'm moving across the country.

So while it seems foolish that I haven't updated my header on this blog yet, I haven't developed my book website, I have nowhere to send my Tweeps in my clever and relevant Twitter postings, I really don't have time, because I'm spending hours a day staring at our suitcases and trying to will my clothes to fit in them. (I think I'm getting closer to success. I will continue to try, just in case.)

This past week we had a big going-away party, several last dinners with close friends, six showings of our house, change-of-address notifications, high-value inventory sheets completed, and the final arrangements of moving our dog with us. (The dog transport process is more complicated than you can imagine, especially those of you with small dogs who can sit at your feet during a flight. Our dog's flight gets another $300 added to it every day, so we better hurry up and get her on that plane before we can't afford a house of our own.)

We move in two days. At the same time as I prepare for that move into a temporary apartment in San Francisco, I am pre-planning a smaller move into a Florida apartment, the big move into a soon-I-hope San Francisco house, my son's move to DC,  the selling of our current house, and the purchase or rent of everything else. So right now I'm a cleaning lady, a house stager, a CPA, a storage expert, a negotiator and a philanthropic donor of old Christmas decorations that won't fit in any of the aforementioned places. There's little time to be an author. Just now, as I was writing the previous paragraph, my husband yelled in, "Can you please come back in here and listen to me talk about this offer out loud?" So apparently, I can't even be a proper blogger either.

When you hear from me again, I'll be settled into my new temporary apartment and I'll have all the time in the world to write my little heart out. Don't believe me? You haven't read my chapter on How to Use Denial and a Good Bottle of Chardonnay to Lull/Trick Yourself Into Agreeing to a Move.

If you like Diane's humorous take on moving, you'll love her book Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap, and My Accent Helped Me Survive Nine Moves.

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