Apparently, according to various studies and research, moving home is as stressful as, say, divorce or bereavement. I expect getting married ranks up there too, although I didn’t find it all that stressful.
Now that Mark’s Master’s course is finally nearing its end, we’re in the process of boxing up our belongings and saying goodbye to the little student flat that’s been our first home. It’s done us well for the last couple of years, although we have rather outgrown it. It’s amazing how stuff just accumulates. Our new place has more space, but I doubt it’ll feel like that for too long!
So far, though, I think the most stressful thing has been the discovery that we were sharing our home with a false widow – and sadly while I was gently evicting the poor spider, Mark was too busy hovering a few feet away to take photos to prove it. Compared to the (probable) wolf spider we had last year – nasty vicious aggressive thing; it bit me. Not something I’ll forgive easily – the false widow was very well-behaved. And seems to have kept any other large spiders out.
To be honest, the most stressful thing I find about moving is making sure I leave the place in as sparkly a manner as I can. Actually packing up my traps and moving? That’s a piece of cake. As long as the kettle, a mug and tea bags are the last thing in, and the bed is the first thing made in the new place, it’s easy. Cleaning the old place until it shines? Less easy, especially if boxes are still in it and there’s other people just hanging around…