I have always hated moving, the packing of things is a bore, the moving the stuff itself hell and the unpacking and sorting things out a stressful anti-climax.
In the new place you never know how things work, as they are supposed to work and also do that most of the time. But here I am now waiting in the cold for the plumber to come around, as the janitor was not able to fix the radiator of the living room.
Boy am I glad it is not many degrees below freezing point outside, yet, but already one plant has taken cold and withered and died. Of course it was the pricey and rare chili plant I was worried about in the first place that croaked.
If that was not enough, the shower is also scolding hot as the stopper of the heater is dysfunctional, so I almost burned myself with it yesterday, and washing for the first time in the new apartment turned out hell, as the plumbing was not working properly, the pipes being full of itself, and the water ran from the sink down into the litter box, flooding the whole bathroom floor with a grey sludge of cat litter mixed in water with washing powder in it.
As if I did not have other things to do, like having a stiff Dry Martini dreaming about having my own butler unpacking my stuff, instead these incredible little accidents occur to me, and never to anyone else but me.
At least no one ever tells me they happen.