January 1st 2001 to March 5th 2013. That’s the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. I will say that I am curiously just as able-bodied at 41 as I was at 29, although I find that the after-action muscle pains are much more crippling. I spent yesterday dragging my carcass around the house and wondering if I’d seriously damaged my knees. “Lift with your legs, not your back” people tell you. That’s all well and good, but once my legs are spent, what do I lift with then, huh? Tell me that, Mr. Smugface chair-sitter, with your healthy back and your intact knees. I don’t see YOU dragging YOUR worldly possessions up a flight of stairs in the snow.
Yesterday morning was The Trial of No Internet while we waited for the cable company to show up and turn the valve that controlled the internet pump. He had to run new wire from the telephone pole, because the existing line was only good for television but was too old to contain the precious internet juice. That means this house has never been graced by the blessed electrical impulses of broadband internet, which is a radical thought.
I spent the dark hours of savage non-internet anarchy writing a massive 8k word account of our experience in the previous house. It’s strangely personal and not the kind of thing I’d normally post here. Doing so would dispel the highly beneficial misconception that I’m a smart person. But whatever. I wrote it mostly for my own benefit, as a means of putting the events in order and understanding how we got to where we are now. I might post it. I might chicken out. We’ll see.
We’re living in town now. I always tell people I’m “from Pittsburgh”, but we actually live in one of the many satellite cities around it. It’s an unremarkable little town, but my family lives here so my heart is here.
I took a picture out of the kitchen window to add to this post. One of the major streets runs nearby and there’s a fire hall visible. Second-guessing myself, I typed the name of the place into Google and clicked on street-level view. Boom. Picture of the window I had been looking out of.
Does this sort of thing matter? I suspect it doesn’t. We have this attitude that we should keep our locations secret online, but my parents spent a lifetime listing everyone in a public telephone book and thought nothing of it. The internet just makes that phone book bigger and accessible from further away. It’s kind of strange that we’re worried about being found by people thousands of miles away, but we’re comfortable being found by people six blocks away. The latter is more likely to have both motive and opportunity to hassle you.
I can’t post this picture! Some crazed FTL fan might read my review, see this picture, do the detective work, drive a thousand miles, then stand around in the bone-cracking cold waiting for me to open the door so he could ambush me in a public place and assault me in front of many witnesses! Someone said that they read about it happening one time and that Snopes wasn’t able to conclusively disprove it!
Having said all that… I still didn’t feel right uploading the picture. I guess I’m just as irrationally paranoid as everyone else.
For the last month, the most common phrase around the house was, “once we’re done moving”. Half of everything we said either began or ended with that phrase, and in the other half it was implied. As the day drew close it gradually became a sort of paralysis where there was no sense in doing anything because it will just be un-done by the move. I sure am thirsty, but I don’t want to refill my mug because I’m just going to move it tomorrow and who wants to move a cup filled with tea? Do we have a box for that yet?
Now the day is passed and we’re way too tired to do the stuff we’ve been waiting to do. I’ve spent all morning picking up random clutter from my desk, realizing I don’t know where it might go or should go, and putting it back down again six inches away. The result is a lot of activity with very little productivity.
I have the usual scrapes, bruises, exhaustion, and muscle aches associated with being out-of-shape and moving, but what hurts most is my pride. Heather is much more active than I am, and she’s been running circles around me for days. I spent yesterday whimpering and taking pain pills while she made more trips to the old place. Then she went to work for the evening while I went to bed. Then she twisted the knife by not mentioning or even noticing my lack of help. The least she could do is act like she expected me to help. Heartless woman.
I kid. She actually chased me away from helping last night. All the heavy stuff is moved, and now we’re just sorting crap into “throw away now” and “maybe throw away later”. I do envy her energy, though.
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