The moving schtick has ceased to be entertaining or funny, I know. I feel exactly the same way. I feel, in fact, like this hapless astronaut - I stepped off the Mars lander onto the wrong planet: the planet of predatory dinosaurs! Ah oooooga! Run away, men! Yeah, see, that dinosaur is The Moving Experience and that astronaut is, like, me, and that part where the black cloth is kind of falling down is, uh, symbolic of the way that shit is, like, falling down all the time. Get it? It's complex.
The end is kind of in sight though. Tonight I'm meeting my friend G at the old house (Yay G! He has a truck AND an allen wrench! Too bad he's already married!) to tear up Frankenbed and haul the last stuff over to the new house. Then, tomorrow, I'm meeting my mother, the Queen of Clean, at the old house where we will scrub and scrub all day and then that, god willin' and the creek don't rise, will be the end of that and I'll finally be able to fully turn my attention towards fitting all my useless, broken, silly, dirty junk into a house that's a good 300 square feet smaller than my other house. Yargh.
I wish I was going instead to this party in Boone that I was invited to or that I could just sit around on my ass and drink heavily all weekend with occasional breaks for hamburgers, as is my American right since time immemorial on Memorial day when we are supposed to remember the valiant dead but usually instead wax drunkenly maudlin about the ghosts of summers past when we were younger, thinner and less inhibited. Or just grill and drink beer and enjoy the mosquitos, either/or.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
1 comment:
Post a Comment