Stairs Make A Man Mean.

We’re moving!

Slowly but surely, we’re transferring everything we own from one building to another. We’ve been fighting, sweating, swearing, breaking things, cutting our arms to shreds, drinking plenty of fluids and fighting some more. On the contrary, the notion of doing it on our own justifies this Labor Day Weekend nightmare. We’re getting there though, and will have it done by the end of the month.

I’m well accustomed to moving. Since the age of 9, I’ve been bouncing around from house to house, scattering possessions and pitching heirlooms into the trash. When you have to load and unload boxes of things you never knew you had, you start to wonder why you have it in the first place. Make no mistake about it, as much as I attempt to live lightly, I own a lot of crap. We’ve been looking forward to this weekend for such a long time, as we were going to buckle down and kick some moving ass.


(Image sized down to lessen the full blow of the haggardness.)

I’m beat.

It’s 90 without the humidity, the steps are 7 inches wide, and FOR THE LOVE OF CRAP, WHY DO WE OWN SO MANY HEAVY THINGS! From now on, we buy NOTHING that weighs more than 18 pounds. I’m a reasonable guy, but I’ve got to set some ground rules, Goddammit. We’ve already put a significant gouge in the wall. I have blisters. A treadmill fell on my pinkie toe. I can’t wait to finish moving, but Celia might be living there by herself while I’m up in traction.

(Moving without trucks

Makes a couple say bad things

Like, “I hate to move”.)

Enough of this moving business, I’ve got other things to focus on this week. Like not losing my job. The Wisconsin Department of Regulation and Licensing may not know it yet, but they’re putting a dangerously underqualified man in charge for the next 4 days. (Thank you very much, Kim!) Preparing to run the front desk is similar to the night before Christmas, only with more vomiting. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t think about anything rational. My crippling fear of failure, mixed with my crippling failure success rate, means that I will lose about 15 pounds by Friday. I’m going to be okay though. I can always look forward to coming home and relaxing in my half-empty, torn up home for a minute or 2, before I start moving things again.

It’s quarter to 9, and I’m going to bed.

13 thoughts on “Stairs Make A Man Mean.

  1. Now, now don’t fight. You have been waiting for this for a long time. Once you are finished you will be very happy, and besides that you have a whole month to move. It’s not like you only have a week. Also, you will be fine working by yourself. They wouldn’t put you in charge if they didn’t think you could handle it. You may want to take some kleenex, though, just in case your nose starts bleeding. Just kidding!


  2. I’m not going to help anymore, though. I’m going to make Ryan carry everything himself…couches, mattress, chairs, table…it’s gonna be awesome.


  3. I’m not going to help anymore, though. I’m going to make Ryan carry everything himself…couches, mattress, chairs, table…it’s gonna be awesome.


  4. I know exactly what you’re going through! The hallways aren’t air-conditioned in our apartment complex, so the heat was driving me and everyone else mad. At least you didn’t have to put up with your mother-in-law and brother-in-law screaming at each other because the brother-in-law had a sour throat that day. And then comes the clutter! Everywhere clutter! So, you spend 5 hours or so in a row putting everything you can away just because you don’t want to see the clutter anymore@! But now, everything’s pretty much put away except we don’t know where to put all our CD’s.


  5. Sherry, the little things are the worst part of the move, absolutely. You just pack everything away, only to take it all out a week later. Congrats on being almost done, though!


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