Writer Guy is in the process of moving about fifteen miles away. He's been packing (and he thinks I have been helping, but really I just add color commentary and persuade him that now is a good time for a nap) for about a week now.
So, Wednesday we worked until time to collapse on just finishing the packing. A lot of his stuff is getting stored semi-indefinately and so it needs to be well packed and organized. I rolled over $100 worth of coins. It's a strange move, because he has a lot of stuff, but not so much furniture. When I move, it's usually in the form of three boxes and a lot of loaded furniture (packing in dresser drawers and such). I have no idea where he was keeping all those boxes full of stuff in that tiny apartment.
Thursday morning, we were both up at six thirty. At eight thirty, I was three cups of coffee into my day and back at his place, dressed to move. We went and picked up the van and dolly. Then I was instructed to "go be compulsive about the dishes" while he loaded the van with already packed boxes.
I reminded him about eighty-five times that my only insturctions were to be compulsive and he should remember that when he unpacks that box. I think you could roll it down the stairs and they would all survive. I also had the good sense to explain to him that someday when he unpacks that box, he needs to remember that it might just look like a wad of tissue paper, but it might contian something like the lids to his salt and pepper shakers or a port glass. I did manage to label the knife handles with little warning flags. Compulsive.
Then I ran home and unloaded my car so we could use the back to tote around his hanging clothes. By the time I got back, he had just about finished getting the first load loaded.
Off we went, in the rain, on our fifteen mile drive out to the house where he is renting a (furnished) room. We got in without incident and then my job became "carry things from the foyer to wherever they are going and also, watch the dog". The dog is one of those small, Chinese breeds. The one with almost no nose and an underbite. We're just going to call him "Asshole" because, well, Writer Guy didn't remember its name and so I just called it "Asshole". Asshole is, apparently, not entirely housebroken. Also, he does not have a crate.
Asshole and I were not fast friends. I'm really an animal person. Asshole is just not a people dog. Moving boxes all over his home without its Mom around probably didn't help the friend making process. The stairs were awkward and it took about a million years, but we did eventually get the van unloaded, stuff stored, made friends with the dog, and were on our way.
On the way back I mention that I'm not going to be able to help from six until ten because I have class. He's still holding out for other people to come and help him (I'm a little girl with a broken finger. I was barely a help), but he is thinking he'll take a break while I'm in class.
We get back to his place, and walk up the road to have lunch. The walk was where I really discovered just how tired I was. We got there though and I ordered some french fries and everything was better. My friend, Skinney, was tending bar and I went and talked to her for awhile and really found a little store of energy while I was doing that.
We got into his apartment with about 30 minutes to go until I had to leave. It had become apparent that no reinforcements were coming. We decided to take a nap.
I left class at eight and went back over there. It was determined that much of his furniture was coming to my house for some indefinate storage and use. The couch, the heavy coffee table, the television, three kitchen chairs, a garbage can, some food, a fan, and on and on. He packed up the computer and then we went to the task we were most dreading..... moving the bed.
Have we reviewed that I am 108 pounds of scrawny girl with a broken finger? And Writer Guy lives on the third floor? And that he has a queen sized bed? A nice one where the weight of the mattress relative to me would have to be expressed exponentially? And the mattresses were not going in the elevator? And these mattresses were going to have to go around the house and in through the back door? In the rain and dark? Okay. So long as we're clear on that.
Getting the box springs down the stairs was not that horrible. I didn't have the heavy end, but it wasn't that bad. Getting it into the van... He had to get up into the van and play Atlas with it to angle it through the doorway. We got it in and flat.
Back up stairs. The mattress. We slid it down the hallway and then I have no idea how we got it down the stairs and across the lobby. I think by force of sheer will. Somehow it got from the top of the stairs to the door to the outside. I think I am repressing how we did that. Then we upended it along a tarp and with Writer Guy as Atlas again, got it into the van.
After that, the heavy coffee table and the couch were nothing. The television was the last thing of the night for moving (leaving some furniture that did not require a moving van behind). It's a 32 inch television, weighing approximately as much as I do. Somehow, he managed to get it padded and on the dolly (I stood there and pretended to be helping, but I mostly was just in charge of like tipping it back or making sure that strap wasn't twisted). We got it into the elevator. Oh, did I mention that this dolly is as tall as me and actually, a little wider? Moving always makes me feel so miniature.
I followed in my car because it has stuff in it that needs to be moved. We were off.
At eleven thirty pm, we had unloaded at my house and were trying to determine how we were going to get the mattress and box springs from the van around the house and into the basement. Let me tell you, we rocked the "nearly silent" mattress moving. We put it on a tarp and pushed and pulled it along through the grass.
At twelve thirty, we were on our way to return the van. It was determined that Writer Guy would be sleeping at my place. At one fifteen, we were finally ready for bed.
This morning, we were up at seven. He had to be somewhere at eight and I needed to take him back to his truck. He has to go into work at noon today (his first day at the new job! Big points to him for being employed!) And finish up the last little bit of moving. And clean the place. Once I've taken a hot shower or bath or something and gotten dressed and all that, I am totally on my way back over there to at least do as much of the cleaning as I can while he's gone....
