Moving is the worst thing ever invented. I’m pretty sure that if you were unlucky enough to visit Hell, there would be a moving room. A place where people were forced to place all of their misshapen items in a perfectly square box and tape it closed without any bulges and still be able to lift it. The damned would be forced to then place all of those boxes and everything that would never fit into any of those boxes in to an immovable rectangular truck. Finally, the poor saps would be forced to tie everything down with twine, rope, and the ever reliable duck tape (only it would be the off-brand duck tape, the kind that is the right color but lacks the superhuman sticking power). The fallen would then drive off in the behemoth death o’ wheels, driving no more than 50 miles an hour with long lines of very irritated cars following. The procession would fray every nerve and a low fuel indicator would cause unadulterated panic as the driver attempted to avoid smashing into the gas pump, a.k.a potential ball of flames.
 The long haul would lead to the unloading of the truck, and the mad dance of the conductor. The person whose job it is to direct the weary and heavy laden with huge arm movements and the graceful get out of the way dance. The soul who must know where the unmarked boxes go, because they will never leave their final resting spot. The haulers would be forced to carry massive pieces of unyielding furniture up and down winding staircases, while being lashed whenever they inadvertently scrape the freshly painted walls.
 The exhausted participants would eventually finish the move, find a cleared spot on the floor, and fall asleep on the floor with only the scratchy furniture blankets to provide warmth. The morning would greet them in their old house, having not packed a thing, the truck waiting to be filled. A “Groundhog Day” of horrific proportions. Would the nightmare of eternal moving ever stop? Could the tourtured ever be forgiven?
Yes, when they finally hired qualified movers to complete the job.
And sadly, many people are too cheap to buy their way out of the moving room in Hell.
I speak from experience.
Our move was rough as you no doubt gleam from my depressing tale. We were lucky enough to have family who rallied and helped. Some of the highlights included Andy’s car finally dying, the builder still working on the house as we were moving in, our borrowed trailer was struck by a car, one of the dogs (Jessie) was injured, the list of stresses could fill the page. But on our very last load from the rental where we had just spent hours engaging in a final clean just hours before the new tenants moved in, we were reminded of what really matters in this crazy life.
The trailer was loaded, and one of the dogs was laying under the feet of all three boys in the backseat of the pickup.  The other dog was in my seat while a carpet cleaner was on the floor of the front seat. I was smashed up against Andy in the drivers seat while sitting in the middle bench seat. As we drove precariously through the dark, Ian shouts with joy, “It’s the whole family!”
Yes little man, we made it… the whole family.