Ugh.

Here we go again.

It's been my experience that I rarely stay more than a year at the first place I move into in a new city, and Denver is proving to be no exception to that. Ben and I were both pretty fed up with this place and when presented with a $1000 a year rent increase we said, "Enough!"

Yes, it's convenient to our preferred shopping haunts, it's located roughly halfway between our respective workplaces, and we've become quite fond of the Starbucks that's a block away, but we just can't justify staying here, especially since we found a two bedroom place that's brand new and is going for what our increased rent would be if we stayed here in this one bedroom unit.

So why am I not champing at the bit to get packed, even though I am excited about the new place? Because I hate the process of moving. Once upon a time I looked upon it as a great adventure, but I'm long past that. The best thing I did when I reached my mid 30s was to start hiring people to load and unload the truck, finally zeroing-out the moving karma owed to friends. I'm rapidly reaching the point where I can justify the expense of having movers come in and do it all.

Right now I'm just keeping in mind that three weeks from now we'll be moved—and moved in—to the new place and this will all be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.