I pushed it a bit too hard in this last week. Everything was going perfectly fine, loading the truck up on Saturday, unloading on Sunday. Then, Monday came. A peaceful day of relaxing, unpacking, and getting the DirecTV working. It would be perfect for heading back into work on Tuesday.

Fluffy even drove me in. Yeah, it was only for a day, which is all I can ask for her. If there is one thing she isn’t, it’s a morning person. I mean, she hisses at me if I wake her up too early. It’s cute and adorable, but hissing?

So, Thursday is here. I only have a half-working DirecTV system, an Internet that occasionally drops out, and a cold that makes me wonder if I found a variant of some new plague. We’ll call it Dylan’s Torments. It shall be a terrible disease and people will curse my name until the end of time.

Or, just a simple head cold.

And yet, I’m miserable and happy at the same time.

What is wrong with me?

Wow, new house, new patterns. Commute is almost exactly double the length and if I catch all greens (like this morning), it takes 18 minutes to work. That means the bad days should be about 22-27 minutes.

We finally got physically moved into the place on Sunday night, except for the apartment which is going to take a few more trips to properly clean up. Somehow, a tiny little apartment takes more effort simply because we didn’t get a big truck and move it.

Moving day was hard. Fluffy had a good-bye party, which meant me and my brother packed the truck while they partied. Got a little bitter about it while doing it, but I’ve managed to let it (mostly) go by now. I also learned that while I’m good at packing trucks and cars, my brother is just that much better than me. We had almost no empty space in that thing. Note to others, when they say a 5.1 meters (17 foot) truck is for a 150 square meters (1,600 square foot) house… they lie. We left a few things behind for the next round of things (plus, we still technically live there also).

Unpacking was fun: snow and hail. We gave up taking things into the basement and just loaded up the garage. Over the next month or so, we’ll get the garage cleared out and usable by the cars.

I got hurt pretty much every day of the move. From the three scratches that look like a cat, but really was a file cabinet, to the bruised foot from where I feel at the gas station (dignity survived simply because no one could see on the other side of the truck). I’m walking with a limp, but that should be fine by the end of the week.

I also realized I’m stronger than I thought. I know that I packed some of the boxes heavily, at least when Fluffy called me some months ago complaining that she put one of my “heavy” boxes on the scale and it came out over 30 kg (70 pounds). And I only had eight of those (RPG books, mostly hardcovers). Last night, even with a limp, I could easily pick up the 35 kg (76 pound) shelving unit box to toss it in the cart. We always joke that I’m stronger with an audience (cute girls or guys are worth +10 STR). But, still strange since I see myself as a wimp in general.

It’s exciting right now. Settling down, getting things working, and basically streaming right into a hopefully relaxing weekend of unpacking and being married once again.