May 12, 2007
notes on a move
- Yesterday I woke up at my usual time, wound up tight with excitement. This dissipated during the 8 hours of packing as we waited for the call. By the time we picked up the keys and took my parents to a really nice dinner at a really nice restaurant next to the lawyers' office, I was completely spent.
- Then I went to Drunken Knitting and a rock concert.
- Six hours of sleep. That concert whipped a moose's ass, but still. 8 straight hours of packing plus 7 straight hours of social events followed by 6 hours of sleep makes for crankiness. Plus, I had to leave before Laura Barrett. I want REVENGE.
- Our goal today: move the bookshelves, because books are easy to pack and stupidly heavy so do them first; move the stuff in the closet and the garage because it's all still in storage boxes; move the stuff in the kitchen because we don't need it. We moved all the bookshelves, half the kitchen, both desks, the trunk and the glider rocker. Next weekend is going to DESTROY ME.
- Things I have abandoned to the second-hand market: a model car with a glue company logo painted on the side, "Mr. X" by Peter Straub, a street map of Toronto that's easily 15 years old, a Donny Osmond LP with his big smarmy face grinning in a floppy cap, a tray of videos, and the deed to real estate on the Moon.
- I threw away the two Corona bottles I used as candlesticks when I was an undergrad. They were covered in dust and blobby melted wax and each had a long black cotton ribbon tied in a bow (under the blobby wax). I thought they made me goth & romantic & shit. Can you believe that it took me till age 30 to let go of that idea?
- Dinner was goat cheese and broccoli pizza. I'm thinking of sending the bill to Friendly Rich. Also, the bill for my divorce proceedings, as his show last night included a naked man setting his genitals on fire, immolating not only his wiener, but the last lingering traces of my heterosexuality. "Look at Rich! He's Friendly!" Stacy commanded. But I could not.
- I hit a wall an hour ago when I was supposed to be entertaining Blake. He entertains himself, but my Dad doesn't want him around the furniture moving and assembly. I don't know what else he's supposed to do.
- I've gone from ecstatic with the heady joy of home-ownership to complete emotional burnout several times. And now I'm going to finish my single Steamwhistle and melt into a puddle of goo.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*