Karma is real. Do not mess with it.

I am in the midst of my move, and I think I've hit a wall. No, I know I have, because the wall is the thing that has broken me. My painted wall.

I've had really flawless moves since I left college, but I don't think of myself as cavalier about them. I stress. I prepare. But then you have a move like this one, which has now been dubbed the "Meg Finds Out She Can't Control Jack."

The adventures started with a crazy rainstorm the night before I started the weekend of moving. It was bad, so I got towels for the little leaks that sometimes pop up around my old loft. No worries. I was eating triscuits, watching the news, returning some phone calls.

Then there was this roaring sound. And Victoria Falls arrived.
"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod!" (Apologies to S., who had this screamed in her ear before I hung up on her.)

What's already been packed? The vast majority of my towels. I grabbed a bucket and what was left to start mopping--it's still pouring outside at a rate I can only describe as "biblical"--and then I realized that it was pouring hard enough inside that the water was flowing through the floorboards . . . into my bedroom.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod!"

I tore downstairs, cursing unintelligibly, and found my room under 2 inches of water, which was rising. I threw my bed away from the wall (it was crazy--I was strong like bull suddenly). I tore open a boxes with the non-brand-new towels and sacrificed them to the rising tide of brick-colored water (I'm telling you--BIBLICAL). They weren't enough. So I used all my small rugs to build a moat around the leaking wall. Then I looked at my bedside table and saw the MegPod underwater. I threw the iPod to safety, and then I sat on the bottom stair and just watched the onslaught for about 10 minutes, until the rain stopped. Then I went upstairs. And I sat down on the couch. Did not cry. Just held my head and said, "holy crap."

I sat there for the rest of the night. I actually sat through Alien V. Predator in its entirety without changing the channel. I slept on the couch upstairs, and decided that I would not look at the downstairs until the morning.

(It was bad. I'll just say that. But it could have been worse.)

I drove to the new place in Hotlanta in the morning with a few things and crashed there Friday night. Yay denial! It's a happy land. I like it there. I painted my living room wall this glorious color of red, and it looked great. The cable guy came.

Then the bed arrived. This was my hugely expensive Big Girl Bed that I am so in love with that it's become unseemly. But when I went down to the truck, what came out was a stained mattress. The truck guy was grossed out as much as I was. Next delivery time? Next Friday. With the flooding on my old bed, I foresee a lot of quality time with my air mattress, the best gift Diva T ever gave me, as it turned out!

But really, these are just things, right? I can take a camping sleepover scenario, I can get a new MegPod (there is a BIG frowny face on it right now---uuuuuugh baby jesus please don't die little Pod), I've got a great new place that's all painted!

Then I pulled the blue tape off the wall edges to admire my handiwork and my glorious red wall. And chunks of paint came off like latex. The wall now looks as though it was painted by a mildly retarded three year old who hates his parents. Obviously, in spite of all the good advice and research I did, I fucked up my wall. BIG TIME. With really expensive paint.

And so I sit here on my new living room floor kinda paralyzed. Everything I've put my hands to has gone to shit this weekend. Not sure what to do with this information. I've taken a shower, and gotten ready to go back to the old place and do the final pack up and cleaning. And then I think I might have a really good cry.

This will all be way funnier in a month. We'll look back then, perhaps.