Tonight will be the third night that Steph, Susie, and I have been in residence at our new, commodious house in Clintonville. I’m typing in the front room while Steph and Susie go to Target with Pat to buy cookware–his and Tanya’s housewarming gift to us. The house is still in considerable disarray, but once we’re organized and "visitor friendly," I will be posting pictures in my blog and on Facebook, so stay tuned.
The past few days have been sheer insanity. The big, final move will be tomorrow morning, all the stuff we couldn’t take in a pickup truck or friends’ vehicles–the piano, a big dresser in the master bedroom, etc. The pound of flesh we need to pay the movers will be considerably less than we
dreaded expected, because my old friend Tom from Marietta (I’ve known him on and off since 1977, when we met at the public library in Marietta), after several days of being uncertain about whether he’d come, arrived about 1 a.m. Tuesday morning from Marietta with his pickup truck. From about 1:30 until dawn, he and I were constantly running boxes back and forth between Franklinton and Clintonville (nine miles), and until about 7:30 last night, that was pretty much what I was doing, with very minimal sleep. (In order to "unwind," I went to work on Wednesday.) Long and short, the movers will not have to deal with boxes–just big pieces of furniture.
I was humbled and baffled by how much my office held. I stopped keeping track of how many boxes (milk crate bookcases, among other things) I had managed to put in a comparatively small room. I have a Fibber McGee style of storage and decorating, so my office was the single worst room to pack. My new office is the basement of this house, and I’ll be sharing it with the furnace, the litter box, and (after tomorrow) a washer and dryer. There are also some puddles on the floor, so I’m stringing extension cords through the ceiling rafters. How I’m going to lay the place out is very much on the drawing board. I’m trying to initiate a regular writing regimen, so once I have my physical setting to my liking, production can begin.
The worst casualty this move has inflicted has been my sleep. At first, I was sweating blood about how much the move was going to cost–I was afraid I’d be saying sayonara to the bulk of my paycheck. Then, once Tom and his truck arrived, I functioned almost purely on adrenaline. I had a good head of steam and surprised myself by how much physical effort I was able to exert. Tom was a dynamo–he singlehandedly moved the dining room table, which is not only heavy, but awkward, to move. I fell asleep right after Criminal Minds ended (I knew it’d be impossible to stay up for Law and Order–and awoke at 5:15, but all day I felt draggy, detached, and felt like I was swimming upstream against a heavy tide just in walking from one part of the office to another.