We're still recovering from moving in June (or was it July, it's all a blur now). But I think I have finally reached that stage of the healing process where I can talk (or write) about the traumatic experience.
The hardest part about the move (or at least one of the many hard parts) is notifiying everyone and then trying to explain it. So, for the most part, we have ignored it, putting off the chore of sending out change of address notices until now. The holiday season (which I will excoriate in a future posting) has exacerbated the situation. The issue is this -- our address has changed so very little. Not much at all, in fact. Only 9 digits, to be precise. You see our new address is:
1436 Mordor's Way
(not our real new address)
Our old house address was 1445 Mordor's Way.
(not our real old address)
Did you catch that? Do you see the problem?
Old = 1445
- New = 1436
Yes, we moved 9 whole digits away. Let me make that clear. That's 9 digits, not miles, not blocks, not even houses -- 9 digits. And that's even closer here in our part of Merkin, since every lot is equivalent to 4 digits. What all this means is simple -- we moved two houses down. And across the street.
Out of a certain masochistic curiosity, I went to Google Maps and asked for a travelogue of our projected move. Here are the instructions in their entirety:
- Turn Right on Mordor's Way.
- Proceed 187 feet.
- Turn Left.
If I hadn't been staying in the neighborhood I would have, at the very least, flipped him the bird. What I wanted to do was put his bald cranium in a head lock and goose-step him over to my garage. If he thought it was so easy, he could move my shit.
Well, as the Aussies love to say, "No Worries." Especially since I have decided that the next time I move I won't know what year it is and I'll be wearing a diaper under my pajamas.