The absolute pain of moving home 

Now I know what you’re going to be thinking, how can I possibly complain about moving home when in The Big Goodbye I was talking about how I couldn’t wait to be back in my home-town for the summer and get away from the smelly kitchen of 2TT. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t god-knows how many things to complain about now that I’m back.

Couple having fun while moving home

Lets start with the fact that I never realised I’d inherited my mothers hoarder tendencies until I realised that my tiny room all packed up couldn’t even fit into a BMW X5. Keeping that in mind, my room is on the top floor and by the time everything was moved, I myself had removed about 3 layers and sweated all my make-up off.

Not only that, but this wasn’t one journey. Being me, I didn’t realise that a triathlon through Leeds meant the closure of a near enough EVERY SINGLE ROAD – this meant that not only could my step-dad get no where near my house the first time he tried, but we were stuck in traffic for a futile hour trying to work out how to do exactly that, what a waste of time.

Once I finally managed to get home with belongings in hand, it turns out that not only did my teeny Leeds house hold a deceptive amount of possessions, but my regular sized home-house doesn’t POSSIBLY have the ability to hold such a magnitude of shit; my bedroom floor didn’t even exist once everything had been deposited

It makes me wonder why I ever thought it was necessary to buy about 59 winter coats when I only wear them for about 3 months of the bloody year.

Storage issues aside, we come to the issue of my brother, or just the issue of new (lets call them) housemates, in general. NOTHING IS MINE – nothing is sacred and oh god all I want is to be able to walk up the stairs without being frightened around the corner, or go to the toilet and there actually be toilet roll to use.

I mean he has his positives, our sense of humour is so similar and being able to prank and annoy our parents together is the best form of comedy. But this is undeniably ruined by his unwillingness to do anything but watch Netflix and blame me for everything he does.

Honestly, moving home is so hard. I love being close to my dog and like, not paying for food – and my summer is so close; i’ll be in Barca before I know it. But other than that, my god is it a pain in the arse. I’m looking for a job just to get myself out of the house!


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