Out go the lights...
Now the seats are all empty
Let the roadies take the stage
Pack it up and tear it down
They’re the first to come and last to leave
Working for that minimum wage
They’ll set it up in another town
--Jackson Browne, The Load-Out
The movers will be here in a couple hours, and I'm up, going to shower, eat breakfast, and then break down the computer gear after Wife Unit and I get one last Internet jones for the next several days. They'll get here, do their mover thang, we'll do one more frenetic round of cleaning just to try and say that no, we aren't really writing off $400 worth of deposits, sleep on the floor tonight, and hit the road for Richmond in the morning. Wife Unit gets to carry the two cats, hopefully stoned on homeopathic kitty relaxer; I get to carry the two computers. It's a fair tradeoff...I get to carry the heavy stuff up and down the stairs, while she gets to listen to cats meowing "Dude, check out the color trails it leaves when I move my paw!!" for six and a half hours.
Moving is an oddly emotional thing, even when it's just from one rental apartment to another. Every place you live, you leave a little of yourself in it, and take a little bit of it with you. A month later, you could come back to the apartment and not even recognize it. The scuffs on the walls have been painted over, the carpet is clean showing no traces of that particular cat puke stain, the small bits and pieces of trash have all been picked up, the smell from that nasty vanilla spill in the kitchen is all gone. But still, you lived there, and somehow, someway, that never completely goes away.
I'm a Christian, so I'm not much of a believer in karma and chi and all of that Eastern stuff. But I will say this: My wife and I are now part of the history of apartment 1127. We were its first occupants and have lived here for exactly three and a half years, to the day, after coming back from our honeymoon. We're part of this place now, of its history, and we will be until the building isn't here anymore. And it's a part of us, our memories, our history. It's our first married "home" together, and that's something we'll never forget. It's where we discovered the joys of broadband Internet. It's where we adopted our first pets. It's the place where we got Wife Unit's craft show career off the ground.
Right over there in the living room is where I stood and cried, freaked out, when I found out last February that I was diabetic. In there, in the dining room, is where we entertained her parents and some friends not long after we moved in, like a real married couple--we were so proud. Back there, in the bedroom where Wife Unit is sleeping right now, is where we made the decision for her to quit her job and bead full-time. It's all part of us, forever.
So today, the rubber meets the road, and the feces impact the rotary oscillating ventilator, and we actually do this. If it isn't ready now, it'll never be ready, so there's no use whining...although I will, I always do.
See you guys in five days (at least, maybe more) on the other side of this thing. That is, if anybody's even reading this.
Peace.
Now roll them cases out and lift them amps
Haul them trusses down and get’em up them ramps
’cause when it comes to moving me
You guys are the champs
But when that last guitar’s been packed away
You know that I still want to play
So just make sure you got it all set to go
Before you come for my piano
Let the roadies take the stage
Pack it up and tear it down
They’re the first to come and last to leave
Working for that minimum wage
They’ll set it up in another town
--Jackson Browne, The Load-Out
The movers will be here in a couple hours, and I'm up, going to shower, eat breakfast, and then break down the computer gear after Wife Unit and I get one last Internet jones for the next several days. They'll get here, do their mover thang, we'll do one more frenetic round of cleaning just to try and say that no, we aren't really writing off $400 worth of deposits, sleep on the floor tonight, and hit the road for Richmond in the morning. Wife Unit gets to carry the two cats, hopefully stoned on homeopathic kitty relaxer; I get to carry the two computers. It's a fair tradeoff...I get to carry the heavy stuff up and down the stairs, while she gets to listen to cats meowing "Dude, check out the color trails it leaves when I move my paw!!" for six and a half hours.
Moving is an oddly emotional thing, even when it's just from one rental apartment to another. Every place you live, you leave a little of yourself in it, and take a little bit of it with you. A month later, you could come back to the apartment and not even recognize it. The scuffs on the walls have been painted over, the carpet is clean showing no traces of that particular cat puke stain, the small bits and pieces of trash have all been picked up, the smell from that nasty vanilla spill in the kitchen is all gone. But still, you lived there, and somehow, someway, that never completely goes away.
I'm a Christian, so I'm not much of a believer in karma and chi and all of that Eastern stuff. But I will say this: My wife and I are now part of the history of apartment 1127. We were its first occupants and have lived here for exactly three and a half years, to the day, after coming back from our honeymoon. We're part of this place now, of its history, and we will be until the building isn't here anymore. And it's a part of us, our memories, our history. It's our first married "home" together, and that's something we'll never forget. It's where we discovered the joys of broadband Internet. It's where we adopted our first pets. It's the place where we got Wife Unit's craft show career off the ground.
Right over there in the living room is where I stood and cried, freaked out, when I found out last February that I was diabetic. In there, in the dining room, is where we entertained her parents and some friends not long after we moved in, like a real married couple--we were so proud. Back there, in the bedroom where Wife Unit is sleeping right now, is where we made the decision for her to quit her job and bead full-time. It's all part of us, forever.
So today, the rubber meets the road, and the feces impact the rotary oscillating ventilator, and we actually do this. If it isn't ready now, it'll never be ready, so there's no use whining...although I will, I always do.
See you guys in five days (at least, maybe more) on the other side of this thing. That is, if anybody's even reading this.
Peace.
Now roll them cases out and lift them amps
Haul them trusses down and get’em up them ramps
’cause when it comes to moving me
You guys are the champs
But when that last guitar’s been packed away
You know that I still want to play
So just make sure you got it all set to go
Before you come for my piano