This Is The Post Where I Talk About Hell A Lot

I am currently residing in the third level of hell reserved for moving. This hell metaphor will be multi-layered and deep. Much like my lovely self :)

This will be my 7th move...in just the past 8 years. SEVEN. That's hell, people. In fact, that's hell x 7. Hot hot hell.

Also moving when there is a heat index of 175 degrees quite literally is like you stepped into the inner most suite of hell. Or like you're standing on the sun doing jumping jacks. Take your pick.

The last and most important level of my metaphorical hell is the fact that i don't technically have anywhere to move into. Except for a storage building. And that type of uncertainty and no permanent residence makes me panicky and insecure and is my own private hell ravaging the parts of me that NEED to have my own space.

My mom and sister showed up today to help me start packing all of my belongings into boxes, and they didn't even balk at how OCD i was being about labeling and organizing. In fact they acted like it was completely normal when i marched out of my room with an armful of my favorite books demanding that they had to be placed in the same box with my hoodies and stored precisely as the very first box you come to as soon as you roll the door open of the storage facility because i love my hoodies and don't know how long i can live without them. And Lord knows i'll be busting that door open to get to my precious books. How will i cope when i can no longer sleep next to my books?

See? I have gone C R A Z Y inside this third level of hell.

Fortunately us Honea gals are made of the same fabric. So my mom lovingly made sure that my Dekker books got stored with my pants and my Rosenberg books got stored with my winter shirts. All is good...and so well labeled that even though the rest of my life may be completely scattered about and unorganized, at least i'll know that if i run out of pajama pants AND i want to read a Brennan Manning book at the same time that i need my yoga mat, I'll know EXACTLY where to look.

One of the main things my mom came to help me with today though is our flower bed. Neither of my roomates nor myself have ever had to bother with taking care of flower beds before we moved in here. So take care of them we did not. And the weeds grew and grew until i didn't know what belonged there and what didn't. I'm trying to do everything possible to get all of our deposit back on this house, so my mom showed up with some cute gardening gloves and showed me exactly what to do.

This was how it looked when we started:

I got really excited and told my mom that although we had a lot of weeds at least our landlord would be moving back to two new palm trees that we had grown for her. But sadly i soon found out those were weeds as well. Some majorly tough weeds.

After several thorn pricks that penetrated all the way through my cute gardening gloves (who knew that weeds grew thorns???) and some serious tugging and pulling of palm trees, we finally got the flower bed back in reasonable shape.

And here is my lovely, exhausted mom after a L O N G days work:

All in all, a very productive day. Resembling hell in many ways, but still made so much better by my mom and sister. Although those palm trees are the closest i'll get to a beach this year...so i AM going to miss them.