I’m never moving house again

I’m serious. If I write the words “we’re moving” again, slap me across the face, kick me in the shin and put chilli in my eyes. Then tell me that moving is so much worse than that. I’m in a special kind of hell right now. The kind reserved for the real baddies. My back and feet are aching, my sciatica is killing me, the pain in my stomach is back, and my eyes are stinging from staring at this damn phone screen for to long.

My only saving graces are my beloved Hubsband, my little champion Chanbe, and my dear sweet parents. We could not have done this without them.

I just keep thinking “this time tomorrow it will all be over”. I know I’m sounding a tad dramatic, but that’s because I’m way past exhausted, I’m incredibly hormonal, I’m very very sad that we are leaving lovely Wangaratta, and I’m sitting on a mattress, surrounded by stuff to do, and wondering how we’re going to get it all out before the cleaners arrive at 9am. The bottom line is, it has to be done, so it will be done.

1 more day……


  1. Not that I want to rub it in, but we just did a move with removalists who packed up our gear, carried it all out to the truck, and then carried it back into the new house. There is a reason these guys earn the big dollars! I don’t think I could ever move myself again after being spoilt like this.

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