Moving is the Bane of My Existence (Luke)

So I already started to write this stupid post when my iPod decided it didn’t like me sharing my feelings on the Web and exited out of Safari, so this is try number two.

I will tell you that it’s hard to imagine just how depressing it is to move from one house to another. And I’m not even factoring in the emotional pangs that you experience when moving from your childhood home. It’s the knuckle dragging work of sorting through piles of crap and organizing them into semi-orderly piles of crap. This is the moving part I didn’t see coming. I have participated in numerous moving days consisting mainly of taking large items from a house to a moving truck, and then taking ‘em back out again. So that main moving day was a breeze for me. But what I hadn’t experienced was the slow moving of inconsequential items over to the new house that never seems to end.

Where’s the plunger? At the old house.

Where are all the towels? At the old house.

Where’s the Internet? ….

I know the last one doesn’t count, cause you can’t physically move the Internet, but I will tell you that it was a serious pain to live in a house without Internet. In fact, the majority of this post was written at El Camino. It really reveals how dependent I am on the Internet. I was sitting at home, homework done, no book readily in sight, and I realized that I had absolutely nothing to do at all. It was a bit disheartening, but then I decided to go outside and play with the dogs, so I ended up feeling pretty good later.

Speaking of feeling good, there is no feeling like the feeling of building something useful for yourself out of raw materials. I built a support for one of the shelves in my dresser, meaning I had to cut the wood with a handsaw, screw in the brackets and everything. And the most wonderful feeling of competency and satisfaction came over me, that I actually did a I-built-something jig in celebration. I’m gonna chase that feeling…

Well I guess I should get back to weeping over the hundreds of boxes of unpacked crap populating my garage.

…maybe later…

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