Moving Disasters

Oh what a night...

It was august, not December, and the year was 2015 rather than '63. Moving my furniture from my apartment to the new house is more of a treat, or trick, than I expected. You see, I have this irrational fear of being crushed by elevators. I've been stuck in one before, no biggie, but as soon as those doors begin to slide towards me as I cross the threshold, I'm toast. 

Last night, Schwinn and I were moving the second half of my bed. Living in an apartment only exaggerates the difficulty of moving. Not only do you have to shimmy heavy furniture out of your home, you have to then find a way to fit it in an elevator. The bed piece was a bit cumbersome, but we moved the first part with ease, so we were optimistic. While maneuvering the second part into the elevators, the doors began to shut. Forcefully shut. And beep... and speak to us letting us know the doors were most definitely going to shut whether we liked it or not. Facing one of my biggest fears, I started to cry, and tears don't help you as your trying to lift heavy things. This happened for at least 2 minutes and I was certain the elevator was going to crush my furniture or me as it tried its best to shut those doors. 

Thank GOD, we finally shimmied it in, and thank god I have an understanding boyfriend who puts up with my fear-induced tears and temper tantrums. Apartment life is great, it really is. I loved being in the heart of the city, I loved the view, but I sure did not love those elevators. 

Au revoir, Regency. You will (mostly) be missed. 

DiaryRegan Shorter