The Worst Day of the Year

I knew I hated September 1, but I forgot just how much.

Luckily, for the past few years, I’ve been able to avoid all the chaos of moving day. But today it seems like it’s everywhere.

All down my street there are moving trucks and trash piles on the sidewalk.

People are packing up and leaving my building (and few people are moving in, it seems). And worse, I actually had to go into the belly of the beast, into Allston, where my new landlord‘s office is.

To get there, I had to drive up and down Brighton Ave. looking for a parking spot. No luck. I had to weave in and out of traffic, around double-parked moving trucks, doing my best to avoid shattered glass and broken mirrors, all so I could begrudgingly sign another lease and fork over a nice chunk of change.

I mean, this is on top of the aggravation I already felt from finding my door unlocked for the second time in a week last night when I got home. Apparently, word didn’t reach the realtors that I am not moving.

So you can imagine how happy I was to see the building manager this morning.

And no one’s happy on moving day. Especially when it’s hot out and everyone’s dripping with sweat and in a take-no-prisoners frame of mind. Just 30 minutes in Allston and I was already in a bitter, foul mood — and I wasn’t even moving apartments!

But that’s all it takes to turn your mood sour.

September 1 is such an awful, awful day to be living anywhere in the B.U./B.C. Allston/Brighton vicinity. It made me so eager for March 31 to come, so (with any luck) I can end my obligation to the new landlord.

That day can’t come soon enough now.