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Moving isn’t for sissies.
It’s no secret that I’ve always wanted to live by the sea.
The ad said it wouldn’t be ready until November, so I asked why.
I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why such a nice, beautiful house stayed on the market more than a few days on an island where long-term rental housing is very hard to come by.
Not only that, pet-friendly rentals are even harder to come by. I asked a few questions but didn’t really get answers, so I continued to plow forward, slapping doubt out of the way. A couple of weeks after I signed the lease, the next door neighbors approached me outside while I was washing the window screens. They were about my age, very pleasant, and I was happy to make their acquaintance. I kept scrubbing while I talked with them, and then they said it.
“We’re going to go ahead and tell you what happened here because you’re going to find out anyway”.
In the meantime, my car (Lexi is her name!) was rear-ended in Southport.
I did finally find a place to live.
Moving day arrived. The truck was packed all the way to the door, so I had to rent a trailer to pull behind it.
Snickers seemed to feel better the next day, so we stuck with our plan to leave on Monday.
Nearly every piece of furniture that came off the truck was damaged.
I go back and forth about whether I’ve made good decisions.