Cross Country Move Bitch #1: Moving Your Shit

Guys….YOU GUYS.

My first trans-continentally aggravated migraine was triggered by moving my things. I had an image of myself meeting the truck that would shuttle my bed and couch and TV and kitchen goods to Los Angeles, and directing a number of people to carry these gingerly packed items into my new studio somewhere in comfy/artsy Los Feliz.

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Nope.

But since all I can find are kitchenless (or maybe kitchen-FREE?) studios in areas of the city with lots of gates on windows, and I am reluctant to secure an apartment until I have a better understanding of the greater Los Angeles area, I think that vision is going to have to combust into thin air. None of my things can come with me.

None.

But while I was delusional and thinking that it would totally work out to ship my furniture and entire life across the country, I decided to rationalize my move in a way that wouldn’t overwhelm me. I did so by prioritizing why I am going and what I need in an order that implies I have actual priorities.

Why I am going:

  1. To prevent a nervous breakdown in Bryant Park, not unlike the one in 2008 that I’m weirdly sentimental over.
  2. Experiencing winter every eight months is no way to live a life.
  3. Performing is important to me. Performing where it matters would likely be a good idea.
  4. Yesterday, while riding the downtown A express, the odor of a rotting grundle wafted by me at a snail’s pace. I will let you imagine the source, which included…yes…a rotting grundle.
  5. If I have to ignore one more person asking me for money, I may snap and/or cry.
  6. The smell of gas no longer strikes me as being potentially dangerous.
  7. Lately, my fear of pigeons flying into my head has gotten worse, and I feel we are at a critical impasse where this may either just happen or the fear of it happening will paralyze me and keep me from walking outside. Either way, I can’t afford the risk.

What I need upon my arrival in California:

  1. An evening of whimsy and possibility, preferably sans zoloft-warranting panic attack, to remind me that I made the right decision and my life will be OK. Because within the week I will need to get…
  2. A car. And at this rate, it will probably be a car made while I was in high school, because my resources are limited. But all I need is a buggy to get me from place to place because I will then need….
  3. A job. I have some consulting work, and am working on more. But I should at least find a bartending job or something reasonable that won’t tie me to a desk and allow me to spend my time being creative while also funding a roof, because next step is…
  4. An apartment of my own. The generosity of my friends in LA is astounding but there is no way in hell I will couch/guest room crash for long, because I’m too old for that shit.

Hopefully then I can just let the rest of my life fall into place, because that’s what happens when you move, right? It all falls into place? RIGHT!?!?! You sit at a sidewalk cafe and run into Kirstie Alley and Kirstie Alley says something like “have you clarified your wants with your real self and the obligations around you?” And you suddenly realize that scientologists are all around you, and you need to beware of THAT shit. And you thought low-flying pigeons were a danger…

All of these magic moments for me will happen without the furniture and items I owned on the east coast. This is my first valuable lesson in moving west. May my lack of stuff let other, more fruitful things and opportunities come my way.

Or something.

I guess.

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