(Sunday, July 10, 2005)
Like Hannibal? No, correction. Strike that, go back. Actually, Hannibal had it easy. He at least had elephants!
We also have a shit-load of books, not soldiers (who can move themselves- a crucial difference).
So I’m up to my pits in junk, and I’m running out of boxes, every orifice in my head is leaking from dust and dander, and I think I’ve got a hernia. The apartment looks like the final scenes from Citizen Kane, my entire grocery budget goes to masking tape, and I’ve started to have wet dreams about inexhaustible sources of nice, firm, square boxes. Yes, it is indeed packing season.
This is what packing and moving does to us. Students are the new nomads, and, consequently, we spend about three months out every second year with two thoughts in our heads:
1. I wonder if they’d miss that box.
And:
2. If I’d become a banker like my grandmother wanted, I’d be firmly established in a two-bedroom condo in east Winnipeg by now.
As it is, I’m dying from packer’s-lung, I think I may have packed my cat in with the reference books, and I can’t find any of the remote controls. Oh, the joys of it all!
Don’t get me wrong; I am happy to be moving. We have a good apartment in a nice, clean, new city (that’s NOT Hamilton). Plus, all of my friends are leaving here, anyhow, so what do I have to stay for? However, nonetheless, I’m thinking of chucking it all, and turning Buddhist for the move (a stick, a bowl and a cloak- that’s all I need, right?). Alternatively, I could engage all the Persian soldiers I can find to help make this move. Which do you suggest?
If Santa Claus can get helpers for cookies (running on the same fairy-land economic system that allows a tooth to cost a buck), why can’t I??
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