I’m about to crack under the stress from this move. And I’m starting to question, “Have I made the right decision? Is it worth it to move across the country for a new job? Will the house actually close without significant incident? Will turtles survive shipping? Will the cats go completely bugger insane on the plane trip? Will this headache I’ve gotten from grinding my teeth ever go away?”
Too soon to tell, though the logical (Vulcan?) side of me is feeling very PollyAnna right now and singing the praises of this move. Ahh, yes, to finally get out to SF, to get to work for “them” – not giant ants, to have no debt after the house closes. All nice points to fix on, indeed. But the majority (read: non-logical) part of me is freaking out hardcore. I am really going to miss some things about this life I’ve had here, enough to wonder if this is the right decision. A little late, though.
And our house took 95 boxes to pack it up. There is NFW that 95 boxes will fit in that little house we’re renting. I’m trying to remain hopeful. The stuff should show up when I’m at work, so at least I won’t have to freak out about it realtime.
I can’t really bitch, though. I have a great opportunity, and I know it. And I don’t even really like Dallas, which everybody knows. But, if I could wave a magic wand and turn things my way, I’d either have a major windfall of cash so that we could get another house, or I’d put things back where they were a few years ago. It was one of the happiest times of my life.
This should be another one, right?