Well, I'm back!

Extremely shaky, but back. My hands are shaking, my eyes are red as stop signs, and I'm coughing up a lung every five minutes. I look like I'm at the end of a bad drunk.

How was the move, I hear you ask? It was hell on toast, thanks. There is nothing more traumatic than moving, especially after being in the same place for ten years. And I had really good, hard working movers and everything--it really went relatively well, but I still wanted to die at the end of it.

Saturday

So Saturday I went into the city to get more boxes and then Cynthia helped me move the cats, the computer and the perishable food to New Jersey. Monty and Milo got into their boxes without realizing that I was going to treacherously slam the door behind them, and they were shocked, shocked I tell you, at my perfidy. Elvis and Baldrick are more cynical and distrusting and gave new meaning to the word "back-pedal". I practically had to somersault them into their carriers.

So we drove to Jersey, Milo yelling the entire time, the other three in catatonic stupors. When we got there, I put them in the living room and opened their doors, and Milo flew out, still yelling at the top of his lungs, but the other three refused to budge.

Then I abandoned them (from their point of view) and high-tailed it back to Brooklyn to go into Mondo Packing Mode. And I packed and packed and packed some more.

At 2a I was dying to sleep, so I decided that I would sleep from 2-7, but only managed to sleep from 3-5 because of the Giant Asthma Attack From Hell that was pretty much never-ending from Thursday to this very little minute. So I got back up and carried on packing.

Sunday

The movers were supposed to get there between 12p and 2p, so I knew that I had to be done at twelve to be safe. There were piles of stuff already in boxes that I wanted to repack nicely, but I bagged that idea pretty quickly--"If it's already in a box, that's good enough!" became my rallying cry.

Towards the end there, weak from being unable to breathe and lack of sleep, the box labeling became a little more haphazard. There are several boxes marked "Stuff". Also, I started packing things in garbage bags. Hey, a moving tip for all you people about to enter the hell that I have just been through: gallon Zip-Lock bags. Trust me, it's worth it.

Anyway, I was getting rid of things, too. Remember the other day when I said that I was unable to throw away a book? You can do alot of things when pressed. Like cannibalism for the Donner party, I lost all qualms about putting books in rubbish bags--I was pitching them in hand over fist. They were mostly pretty terrible, though, so it wasn't so bad.

I'll tell you, though, the worst thing about packing was the hopefulness. I kept thinking "Okay, all I have to do is this and this and then I'm done! Arghh! I forgot about this! Okay, after I finish this other thing, then I'm really done! Arghh! I forgot about this!" over and over again for hours and hours.

Anyway, I finished packing at 1p, took a shower, then sat down and waited for the movers, trying my darndest not to fall asleep. Started watching Raiders of the Lost Ark, an excellent film to watch while sleep-deprived. And I remember thinking "Ahhh, at last I have finished", only to realize that there was still the entire move left to do.

So the movers came at 2.15p, blanched at the piles of boxes, started moving things down to the truck, then stopped, saying that it wasn't going to fit and that they would have to see if they could trade jobs with the guys who had the twenty-foot truck. Which they did.

So my second crew of movers arrived at 4.15p and the move really began.

You know, I thought that if you hired movers you got to sit on your ass and let them do all of the work, but that's not so! I mean, I suppose that I could have, as they didn't force me to help, but I would have felt too guilty if I did not. So, with plenty of coughing breaks, I pitched in, and we watched Raiders and Trading Places until I had to unplug the cable box. The load took four hours.

O, and it was raining.

We drove to Weehawken (took around 45 minutes) and I ran inside to check on the cats. Milo was hiding behind the kitchen cabinets, Baldrick was hiding inside the bathroom cabinet, Elvis hadn't left his carrier yet, and Monty was nowhere to be found. I wasn't worried, though, because when I moved to Brooklyn in the first place he immediately hid himself in a two inch space under the sink, so I figured that he'd emerge when he was good and ready. Which was about halfway through the unload. He was behind the stove--go figure!

So the unload took around 2 hours and fifty minutes, but that was rounded out to the next half-hour which meant that I paid for eight hours. When they took their leave, one of them, Joel, said to me "Man, I want to go to sleep! And I have to go all the way to Queens before I'm home!" and I looked at him and said "I am home!"

Monday

So did I get plenty of much-needed sleep and then hippity-hop to work? My ass. I slept around four hours, because I kept waking up choking, so when I stumbled out of bed, I recoiled in horror at the idea of going to work, called in sick and went back to sleep.

But it was not a day of rest by any stretch of the imagination. First I had to call the phone company, since they had activated my number but neglected to actually turn on the line. I made an appointment for the next day, but the guy came out two hours later because he was in the neighbourhood and had finished his other appointments. So he turned on the phone, and while he did, my cable went out. He swore that he hadn't touched the cable, but it was a pretty strange co-incidence, don't you think?

Anyway, the phone was on and he went away, and then I picked up the phone to make a call, and there was more noise on the line than you would think possible! I listened closely, and realized that when I was hearing was not other people's calls, but about eight radio stations! So I called back the phone company and they're coming to fix it tomorrow morning. The cable will get fixed Thursday.

Then I went back out to the old apartment with Bill so that I could clean and take out the garbage and he could take down my ceiling fan. When I got there I found a big pile of mail for me, which I found somewhat surprising, since I had put a forward on my mail on Friday, then he took down the fan and left me to the cleaning.

O God it was dreadful. It took four hours, and that was just me sweeping and taking out the trash--I didn't mop or do surfaces at all. I had to keep resting. And there was so much to bring home, because during the move, I kept seeing things on the ground when a large piece of furniture would be moved, and thinking "I want that. I'll get it tomorrow", so I couldn't actually carry it all, including the ceiling fan and the mop and broom and stepladder and things that I had knowingly left behind, so I decided to go back again on Tuesday to get those last couple of things.

At one point I was so weak and I couldn't figure out why, and then I remembered that I hadn't actually eaten since 6a the previous morning.

Staggered home by 1a.

Tuesday

Desperately wanted to call in sick again, but knew that I couldn't, so I shook and coughed my way around the place all day, then went back to the old place for one last time to pick up those last few things, and said goodbye to my apartment.

Even though I let it get pretty revoltingly filthy (never again, man) it really was a nice place. I grew up there, really--I was 22 when I moved in and 33 when I moved out. I'll miss it, but it's good to move on.

And the best part is, moving is over!!!!

One year ago today:
All in all, a VERY weird evening!

* Yesterday / Index / This Month / Tomorrow *

E-Mail

Logo and some graphics by Lucy Huntzinger
Background and some graphics by Ace of Space

This page was written by hand. My hand. Only pussies use HTML editors.
Last Updated Fri 29 May 22:33:09 1998