After three longs days of packing, cleaning, organizing and lifting, the move into my new apartment is finally complete.
The landlord gave me the keys bright and early on a Sunday morning -8 a.m. to be exact. My mom couldn't make it up until sometime in the early afternoon and heaven forbid any of my friends would be awake before 11. Trust me, I'm not blaming them. It was a chore for ME to wake up, and I was the one moving. So, for the first four hours of transfering my life from one apartment to the other, I was on my own.
While attempting to be Ms. Independent, I managed to pull several muscles, drop half the boxes down my front steps, and run head first into a metal door.
I have a feeling this was God's way of telling me that I can't do everything in my life without asking for a little help.
Once my mom and friends arrived, we had everything done in little over and hour. It would have taken me another four hours to do it aone.
My mom treated me to a victory dinner and then she headed home. I still had a lot of unpacking to do.
I unlocked my new apartment with my new key for the first time and smiled.
"This is going to be soooo much better," I thought to myself. "All my problems have been left in the old, out-dated apartment." Ha! Man, was I kidding myself.
I kicked off my shoes and started piling the garbage to bring to the dumpster. Bag by bag I started loading up my car with as much garbage as I could.
But when I tried to go back into my apartment, the door was locked. And the keys were inside, of course.
I don't know about you, but I have lost count of the number of times I have locked myself out of my apartment and my car in the past year alone.
Like a big baby, I curled up on my front steps and cried. I was exhausted, filthy, and more than anything, I was ticked off. This wasn't how the day was supposed to go!
Once I stopped whining, I decided to do what I do in most crisis situations; I called my best friend, Amanda. In true Amanda fashion, she came right over.
When she got to my new place, she came over and sat on the front steps right beside me. I was just waiting for her words of wisdom to help make me feel better.
Much to my surprise she didn't say anything inspiring. In fact, she didn't say anything at all. She just laughed-hysterically.
"What is so freakin' funny?" I snapped.
"You," she giggled "This is so you!"
I tried to explain to her how NOT?FUNNY this situation was. Locking myself out of my apartment on the first night had to be an evil omen or something.
"Chelsey, it's kind of like when it rains the first day you start to build a house. It may seem like a misfortune but really it's good luck. Maybe locking yourself out is just like that."
After that statement I couldn't help but laugh at myself. She was right. Really, it was all in how I looked at it. I could freak out and assume that everything that went wrong from there on out was because of this evil omen. Or I could realize that sometimes stuff just happens. Changing apartments wasn't going to magically make all my problems disappear. And it's up to me:?do I want to sit on my front porch and cry about it, or simply laugh at myself and move on.
Editor's note: Chelsey Roath is a student at Northern Michigan University. Her biweekly column on college life in Marquette runs on Sundays. Her email is firstname.lastname@example.org.