The curse is broken?

So here's a story I've never told before. As I have mentioned on many occasions, I am moving to South Beach. As anyone who knows me also knows, moves never go well for me. As a matter of fact, this blog actually started as a place I could vent about my horrible moving experience two years ago. However, another move was necessary so with apologies to my mom and Kris (they are always the recipients of the tearful phone calls detailing the latest moving snag), I contracted a moving company.

I scheduled the packing to be done last Thursday, and the actual move to occur on Friday. Thursday morning I had clinic, so the movers weren't supposed to arrive until after 11 am. At 11 am, I am stuck in traffic on 95 when I get a call from the movers. They very apologetically told me they were running a few minutes late, and would not make it until closer to 11:30. Since it would take me almost all of that time to get home, it worked out perfectly. The packing took forever, but that is less the movers, and more my ridiculous amount of stuff. By 7:30 that evening, I was all packed and ready to be moved. I spent the night at the new place for the first time and headed to work ridiculously early Friday morning to get a few things done before the actual move was supposed to happen.

Friday morning I left work about 8:30 and headed home to meet the movers. I anxiously awaited the phone call telling me they were lost, brought the wrong truck, the truck was full, etc. etc, but my phone remained incredibly silent. At quarter til 10, a knock at the door. The movers were here. They actually were planning to take my stuff from point A to points B and C (part went to the new place and a lot went to storage). Well that just wouldn't do - a snag had to happen at some point. I spent all day waiting for it, but by 5 that evening, I was sitting in the new place surrounded by boxes with the remainder of my stuff safely ensconced in "the vault". What was this some elaborate con? Would I start unpacking the boxes and realize it wasn't my stuff? Something had to be awry? I simply don't move smoothly.

Sure, I'm still surrounded by boxes, and have no idea where things are or will go, but for the most part this hasn't been a horrible experience. May be the moving gods have finally decided to smile on me, or maybe they just didn't realize I would be moving again so quickly. Regardless, I could almost enjoy moving if more went like this one.