We got to the house at around 1:30, almost perfectly on schedule. roho and enveri are positively divine for lending a hand with lugging my furniture up the stairs from the basement -- they didn't have to do it, but they did. The surprise of the weekend was that Matt (one of the grillers from BD's we see on a regular basis) actually showed up to lend a hand with the move. He had volunteered to help me move on Wednesday night during my weekday excursion with Kestral to BD's for a midweek low-carb Tasty Dinner. I appreciated his kind offer but didn't seriously expect him to turn up -- the whole deal carried a vibe of "too good to be true" for me, so I was pretty much prepared to go it with a minimal crew. But to my immense surprise he did indeed show up, exactly as promised. He was just the thing we needed to get all the furniture and boxes out of the cellar within the first two hours of the job, too. We probably could have gotten it done without his help... but we most certainly couldn't have gotten it done in such a short period of time. It probably would have taken two days to lug all the furniture up without somebody falling over from a stroke.
I spent a lot of my time trying to figure out why this fellow was helping me -- I may be a regular at his restaurant, but I am essentially a total stranger. Yet here he was, bigger than life, grabbing one end of the couch with me and helping shover it up a flight of stairs and through a rather difficult hallway. No matter what angle I looked at it from I couldn't make any sense of it. There had to be some sort of motivation here, some sort of reason as to why he was lending me a hand. Ever heard the phrase "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth?" Well, so have I. Let me tell you, I was in there with a flashlight, a book on equine veterinary medicine and a magnifying glass. My answer came when I found out he was a student of Trinity International University. After he told me he was attending an evangelical divinity school everything became clear: he was playing the part of the good Samaritan -- and he did an exemplary job of it. He really was a great help to us, and he didn't sermonize us once. He talked about what he hoped to do after school (teaching, I believe it was), and we shot the breeze about his home town (he grew up near Pappillion, Nebraska, an area I am passingly familiar with) but not once did he breathe a word about matters of religion. On those grounds alone I think I'll nominate him for sainthood. He was only there for a few hours before he had to leave for work, but his help was certainly felt and deeply appreciated. Kestral is planning to make him a home-cooked meal for dinner as a thank you, and as a starving college student Matt evidenced a great interest in food that doesn't have the word "ramen" in it. Unfortunately I think my plan for compensation will have to be scrapped, knowing what I know now I suspect he's not a person who's fond of beer and games of pool. Maybe I can simply redeem myself by lending Kestral a hand as she cooks the "thank you" meal.
So now it's two days after the Great Move and I'm woefully, heinously, outrageously sore. It hurts for me to get in and out of bed. Getting in and out of my truck is akin to climbing Mount McKinley. The steps at the office? Let's not talk about those right now because I'm happier pretending that they simply don't exist. Unfortunately for me my legs are playing second fiddle to the continuous fire that is raging in my arms and wrists. I presume that yanking and tugging at heavy objects is responsible for my current state of misery, although I'm sure that the awkward contortions I had to assume and the decidedly non-ergonomic placement of my hands so as to cradle and shove unwieldy furniture into compliance also lent a hand.
I mostly want this sensation to quit lingering and move on down the road into history. If this doesn't recede soon I suspect I will be digging into the backup supply of painkillers that I keep for when I'm battling a migraine... otherwise I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight. I laid awake for three hours last night just staring at the ceiling and counting down the time until my alarm would go off while I held my arms as still as possible in the splints. I would really like to avoid having to resort to narcotics tonight to prevent a repeat of last night, but my resolve is quickly slipping -- above all else this has got to stop if I'm going to get through my workweek.
I digress, however, since I was originally writing about my possessions. As of this point everything I own (minus five computer monitors and what little I brought with me to the current apartment) has been removed from neowolf2's home and is now safely secured in the storage unit 36 miles from my apartment. For better or worse most of my art is also in that storage space, and I'm doing what I can to keep from thinking about what the summer heat and humidity will do to the repligraphs or the lithographs. I'm working even harder to keep from thinking about the originals that are stored there, and what damage the canvas might undergo under the relentless force of the weather. Maybe I should have gone with climate-controlled storage... but I can't afford to pay those prices if I want to keep saving money and have even a crumb of hope of achieving my dream of being out of debt and a homeowner (of course the whole homeowner thing is up in the air right now anyway, so why I'm worrying about it is anyone's guess).
It's just better if I don't think about the possible loss of that much money and three years of my life. There's nothing I can do about it right now, so I might as well just move on, right? Somehow it's not as easy as all that. Twelve thousand dollars of investment, time, love and memories. Twelve thousand dollars. If you say it enough the figure starts to lose meaning but the concept of "a lot of money" remains relatively undamaged. Twelve thousand dollars.
Twelve thousand dollars.
Between the way I feel physically and the way I feel emotionally I have not been in a very good mood at all since Saturday's move. I have been irritable, uncommunicative and generally "blah." This is stupid! I've managed to overcome a major obstacle (the move) and walked away from what could have been a total wreck of looking pretty good thanks to the help of friends and acquaintances that I barely even know. Let's face it, the worst that happened was that I got sore muscles.
So why has this left me so blue?
I met a man from Mars
Posted about 12 hours late because LJ was being broken last night.