Flying past the paint

I am trying to move into my house in Savannah. The movers were supposed to come between 7-8am on Sunday. Then they changed it, then they changed it again, and again until finally they just weren't coming until the next day. And that required a new set of logistics since I do work and time was running out on my storage unit. I only leased it for a month. I know, I know everything happens for a reason and most times we do not see that reason quickly if at all.

In the big scheme of things, it's fine. In the small section of my life, it wasn't. My sister was here to help me wade through the mountains of boxes to at least set up my kitchen and bedroom. This house is smaller than my previous house and careful editing needs to be done. I edit better under adult supervision.

I know that it will all work out, eventually. It isn't life threatening just mildly painful. And I know I will sit back and laugh about this when I tell the story of my first non-Army move. I will be able to pass many lessons on to the next person. Or to no one, but I will know better for the next time. And there will be a next time since this is not my forever home. This is my transition home.

It will be alright just like the paint on my kitchen floor. Someone knocked over a gallon of white paint on my titled kitchen floor. And now you can't even tell it was there. You just have to know how to resolve the issue. And it certainly wasn't me doing the resolving, so it's a good thing that the person in the know was there. Plus the fact that I wasn't the one who spilled the paint.

As I write this, I am once again waiting on the movers to call me. And if all goes well I will be sleeping in my own bed tonight. If not, back to the sofa I go. No worries, it is very comfortable.