A Moving Story, Part 1

It’s not what you think.

I’ve posted a few times in the past about my neighbors. It’s a classic love hate relationship: I love to hate them. I probably shouldn’t make such a broad statement as some of them have been pretty good, but for the most part they’ve been really bad. This part of town began slipping down the slippery slope of ghetto-ness in the three years since I’ve moved here, and it’s time to move on. I’ve ignored it as long as possible (I hate moving with a passion, and I tend to combine the moving experience with deep spring cleaning). I’ve also come to associate it with massive upheaval my life, something similar to Army brat syndrome maybe.
Since I’ve lived here, I’ve seen:

* 1 fight in the parking lot over food stamps (With real police action)
* 1 bounty hunter taking a guy away while his four year old daughter stood there and cried.
* Countless screaming matches (Now with and without police!)
* One wreck in the parking lot. The girl’s brakes failed and she managed to clip my old Geo convertible before slamming into the front brick wall and collapsing half. (Once again guest starring the police!)
* One hurricane (In my defense I was at the office most of the time, no problems there. Unsure if the police came).
* One guy arrested for various things, some real some not. (Yes police came, and yes it was me).
* One guy arrested for murder of a gay man at another apartment complex.
* One guy arrested for failing to register as a sex offender.
* One family of racoons run out and shot for setting off a burglar alarm constantly.
* One tree falling into the buildling as three idiots tried to cut it down and managed to pull it INTO the building instead of away.
* One lesbian couple making up after one of the screaming matches mentioned above.
* I got a roommate.

So yeah, It’s been an unforgettable three years: not in a Nat King Cole kind of way mind you, more of a post-9/11 sort of unforgettable. Traumatic, if you will. I’ve said I always try to live my life with no regrets, and it’s hard to say I regret living here. I do some, but it was a good place when I needed it. Had the neighborhood not gotten steadily worse I might have stayed longer.

So the packing has begun once more. It seems like Jeff was just moving in. Who can believe it was six months ago? Not I. We were originally planning to move it all ourselves (with help from friends to unpack) but after realized that the new place was on the third floor, and that it’s going to rain on the moving day it became increasingly clear fate was pushing us toward hiring movers. Who am I to fight destiny?