Monday, April 26, 2004

Friday was spent in full Terminator Mode. As soon as word got out that I was taking the afternoon off, my inbox was full of requests for suddenly essential reports that had to be done before I left, no matter that most of these could have been done a week ago had I gotten the necessary data in time. A department secretary at Truman used to have a sign over her desk that said, "Procrastination on your part does not create an emergency on mine." If I had any brains, I'd apply that rule here, but I enjoy playing the superhero, so maybe not. I hit the vending machines for lunch, mainlined coffee, and was out of the building by 1:30 or so. Unfortunately, that was just the overture.

I've lived alone for the past three years, Christie for at least five. Before that, both of us had been married. So we each have a full complement of household goods with a generous assortment of extra crap on the side. We thought about looking for a house big enough for all of our stuff, but it doesn't really make sense to do so until we've built up some equity and some savings, both of which will be made easier thanks to my miniscule house payment. Besides, on what planet does it make sense to buy a bigger house to make room for stuff you neither want nor need, that has simply gathered over time, like dustbunnies? No, we must shed!

Luckily, Billie and Emily are just starting out, so they bought a good number of the things we have too many of. Of course, they live in Springfield, so we had to get it to them somehow. That's where U-Haul comes in. And once we had the trailer rented, why not use it to move some of the larger pieces of furniture. We're selling my dressers in a garage sale, to be held at Christie's (all resemblance to Christie's is coincidental), along with a great old writing desk that just doesn't fit anymore, and is impractical to store. We had to get my dressers to her place, her dressers to my place, and an assortment of furniture from both of our places down to Springfield. I spent some time letting the pieces flip around in my head, hoping for a miraculous logistical solution to materialize, but there was no way around it but hard work, heavy lifting, and multiple trips across town pulling a trailer.

It was 1:30 in the morning by the time we got to Springfield, after three and a half hours of driving through the rain.

Thing is, it was actually pretty peaceful. Every once in a while, the visibility would go to hell and I'd get nervous, but we couldn't safely go over 50 mph, so there wasn't even a question of hurrying. And while there was an appropriate amount of "are we being stupid?" introspection, there wasn't really any question of stopping while there was still work to be done, either. I joke a fair amount about being lazy, and it's true that when I've got a choice between laying around and doing work, I'll take laying around, provided there's some kind of diversion available to keep me from getting bored. But I learned a long time ago that nobody's going to step up and do my work for me. All the bitching and moaning in the world isn't going to get it done, so I tend to just step up and slog through it.

Christie's got the same attitude, but she's met enough people who don't to appreciate it in others. So it was that when I finally hit the pillow, head and ears ringing from the road, my hands still half-cradling the shape of the wheel, I drifted off with her voice in my ear, calling me a super-hero.

Every man should be so lucky. Every woman, too. So, Christie, don't go thinking I haven't noticed your cape.

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