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The first load was three bookcases and fourteen boxes of books, and then we took a break for coffee and a smoothie and a cinnamon roll at the coffee shop that now, I think, will be my coffee shop. And that’s how Moving Day started.
Back when I lived in New York City, one load might have done it. But I gained some weight in grad school, books and art supplies mostly, and then when I moved into this big empty house in the fall I found chairs and a chest and a table. So all week I have been shedding pounds. Craigslisters got my cassette tapes and my back issues of The Sun. Buffalo Exchange got a bag of clothes. Powell’s got a shelf of books. I went through my files folder by folder, painstakingly pulling out outdated essays and posters from Nader’s first run. But still I am heavier than I used to be, three loads heavy, plus two tables and two boxes of dishes in the basement of the house where I no longer live.
Melissa and Julie came up from Eugene just to move me, and I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. Cried a lot, mostly. But instead we wore hats and sang on the stairs, and they loaded while I folded, and after the third run we ate cake. They brought me a tomato plant and a pepper and some basil, and a bottle of wine called House Wine. Melissa and Julie are how I got through this day.
And they insisted, between trips, when the truck was already full and we were speeding from old house to new, that we stop at garage sales, where Melissa found glass goblets and Julie found two-dollar patio chairs, and I found an Elijah’s cup for next Passover. And I also found a down comforter, being sold by a girl moving to Syracuse for art school, and this was the best omen of all. Because I went shopping with Disaster for his comforter and I’ve coveted it ever since. Not to mention my new house has no bed. So this is a good start.
Tomorrow I will unpack my new room, and I will take a break to settle in my little plants, and by next week perhaps I will know my new housemates better and it will start to feel like home. Tonight, though, it didn’t, so I came back here to my old house, even though everything is gone and everyone is away. I’m drinking the last of my gin on the couch I helped pick out. It’s quiet and empty here, but it still feels familiar and safe. I still just want to stay.
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