moving is for the birds

It was so organized. It was so thought out. Red pen, red star = Storage. Black pen, no red star = Chapell's and No storage. It was brilliant. And then we arrived in St. Louis and the boxes were sorted between Storage and Not Storage. It was timely. The process was smooth. The next day rolls around and I am looking for my shoes. They are so well organized in a box. It is a brown box, much like all the other 50 brown boxes we have packed. But this brown box should not, will not, have a red star. "It will be in the garage", I comfort myself as I walk upstairs. Surely, if it wasn't supposed to go to storage the logical location would be the garage... right? So I start looking. And I'm looking and looking. "Jordan? Where the heck is the box with my shoes?" Now Jordan is looking. We are moving small pieces of furniture that didn't make it to storage. We are shifting boxes to see more boxes. No shoes. No shoes. Frustration looms over the garage. Irritation enters my heart. I am fuming mad.

We are in the car driving to storage. Of course we are driving some 20 minutes because why would we have a storage location near our home? That would be too easy? So, 20 minutes is a good amount of time to think of all the possibilities.

A. It was stored in the back of our storage bin... tucked ever so tightly between kitchenware and desk accessories.
B. People did vandalize our U-Haul the night after we packed it and decided to only take my shoes box.
C. Rapture, and my shoes made it out of this place. Good for them. They are in a better place.

We arrive at storage and begin searching. I could go into great detail, but I will save you (and save my future sin and reliving of sin). Point is, the shoes are missing and I am 1 day away from interviewing. I have with me my beloved black flip-flops, running shoes, and (if I do say so myself) sexy summer heels... none of which will work for a professional interview.

You know, it's the little things that can turn your world totally upside down- at least for me it is. I let the little things get to me. I'm not a "big enough person" or whatever to let these things just roll off my chest and just go. I like to think of myself as easy going, and in some instances I am, but not with this. Moving half-way across the country to a new city, jobless, homeless, I will allow a brown box of shoes that are missing tear me up inside and consume. And it did... and still does. Dude, where the hail are these shoes? I mean they are haunting me! I'm going with option B. So logical. We went through storage, quite thoroughly, and they were no where to be found.