I change residences roughly once every year and a half. And it gets harder every time. The physical rigors of hauling my possessions all over town is still bearable, but realizing the crappiness of my furniture is dismaying. Surely there is some metaphor to be divined when your furniture can be readily disassembled into planks and poles.
The move went very well. We started loading the 16′ moving truck at 10am and finished loading at 1pm (breaking for a snack of leftover wine, cheese, and stale bread – “like French laborers”). Then we drove to our new place and started unloading at 2pm. Unfortunately, while our new apartment is simply charming, it’s only accessible by creaky, winding, narrow staircases with oddly spaced stairs. We finished at 6pm, returned the truck, and then partied with a feast of healthy-style Chinese food and rum-spiked juice.
Oh, how my muscles ached this morning, not only my arms and back, but my quadriceps and calves. I felt as if I had hiked Mount Washington carrying a box of books. Since my mattress was laid on the floor, I struggled to overcome the pain and stand up. How I longed for my bed frame!
But I stood up and started unpacking. There are kitchen cabinets to be filled, built-in dining room casework to be lined, and closets to be occupied. And there are many planks and poles to be assembled, to be fastened together with wood pegs and screwed with hex keys, so that life may abide.
