Time Travel back to Wednesday, May 3, 2006

I've have crazy busy days before, but nothing compares to this one. My movers were supposed to arrive yesterday, but they evidently had a car accident and had to reschedule for today. Unfortunately, I had a gazillion things to do before their arrival, which was now scheduled for 9 am, so I got up at about 6:30 to get started. Holy cow, what a mess I still had. First off, I had already taken my bed apart, so I slept on the couch, which was fine, but this mixed with my general anxiety over the move kept me from a good night's sleep I deperately needed. And in the meantime, Murphy was becoming more alarmed by the minute.


Anyway, the movers got here on time, which was lovely, and I had plenty to occupy myself with while they carried my boxes and furniture down to their truck. I'm glad for being busy all the while, because I have a hideous problem with feeling guilty while people work on my behalf. Yes, I know I paid them (a lot, I might add), but it was stormy outside and I had so many boxes, most of which are filled with heavy books, and I always feel like such a lazy bum when they're scurrying around, sweating like crazy, and I just stand there giving out orders. But this time I had stuff yet to pack and a car to load for my drive, so I didn't feel too lazy until we got to the storage place. Once we were there, I really had nothing to do with myself but stand around and watch. Sometimes I felt the urge to just go grab some boxes and start helping, but then what the hell's the use of hiring movers? I suppose it comes from the fact that my family moved several times while I was a kid, and they just didn't believe in hiring movers. In my family, if you have functional arms and legs, you are perfectly capable of moving without hiring people to do it for you. But I gotta tell you, once you hire movers, you'll never go back to doing it the hard way. It's lovely, even if you are plagued with some bizarro guilt.

After a horrendous thunderstorm (because of which they earned quite a tip), they finished much later than I had hoped, and I still had more junk in my apartment to get rid of or pack into my car for the trip to Florida. Long story short (yes, I know, it's too late for that), I didn't leave my apartment for good and get on the road until just after 2 pm that same day---and I still had to drive 6 hours! But when I did finally pull off my street for the last time, I was ecstatic.

It was hotter than hell and humid in that uniquely St. Louis way. Horrible. At first I was so happy to be leaving before the usual St. Louis summer weather hit, but then it occurred to me where I was headed. I really must be insane. I hate heat and I hate humidity. So, naturally, the solution is to go to South Florida for the summer!

But then, as I got onto I-64 and headed toward the bridge, the excitement returned. Crossing the river was a major ordeal for me. I never crossed that river unless I was going out of town, and everytime I did that, I wondered when I'd be crossing it for good. And here it was finally happening.

I took a dangerous number of pictures of signs, the bridge, the arch, and the road while trying to navigate perhaps the stickiest driving in all of St. Louis. Yes, very smart of me, I know.