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.

But....man.


(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.

"So I was sitting in my cubicle today, and I realized that ever since I started working, every single day of my life has been worse than the day before it. So that means that every single day that you see me, that's the worst day of my life."

"What about today? Is today the worst day of your life?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, that's messed up."

"I realized that we don't have a lot of time on this earth. We weren't meant to spend it this way. Human beings weren't meant to sit in little cubicles, staring at computer screens all day, filling out useless forms and listening to eight different bosses drone on about mission statements."

I spent my entire day off counting down the minutes until Labor Day weekend.

How did you spend my day off?