Quiet you: it is too a feature!

I’m usually a very careful, calm sort of person. I move objects with a delicate grace. I rarely, if ever, break anything…and if I do, it’s not through negligence. Everything I own either still works or broke after years and years of careful use. Hell, the battery backup in my original copy of the Legend of Zelda still works!

This always applied. Until I moved.

While Kenny was still here, in the early-to-mid stages of the move, I was more or less calm. I won’t say entirely calm, because it was starting to wear on me even then. Because of how quickly the move escalated after he left, you’ve not heard much about his trip from me…and that’s unfortunate, because it was great.

Anyway, I’m normally even careful with stuff I take to the dump. Sometimes people go there to get cheap (by which I mean free) furniture before it’s destroyed. But, after the day the movers actually came, and my frustration level hit maximum (which is why I’ve spent days recovering…and will continue to spend days recovering.) It was after this that I gave up all of my normal grace and embraced brute strength. Some examples:

1) The Poor Dresser
There was an old cabinet style chest of drawers/dresser in our closet. My sister and I were supposed to move it outside. I was on the heavy end, and I pulled a drawer out to get a handhold. Since she was on the cabinet end, she couldn’t really get a grip. Suddenly I think to ask where we’re taking this thing. “Oh, we’re just throwing it out,” she says…and it makes sense. It’s an old piece of junk. So what do I do? I set it back down, and I kick the cabinet doors as hard as I can. They snap off at the hinges and go flying back into the dresser…and Erin has her hand hold.

2) The Poor TV Stand
Even though we’d already had it moved to the new house, my dad decides he doesn’t want his old wooden TV stand. So we take that to the dump. He can’t climb on to the back of his truck to help me, and I didn’t really want to walk it around to the side of the dumpster we were at, so I picked the thing up myself. I have no idea how much it weighed, but it was solid wood…and heavy as hell. I was afraid I would hit the lip of the dumpster and it would bounce back and hit the truck, so I tossed it as hard as I can. It flew about 10 feet, hit the OTHER side of the dumpster and bounced back into it. I stared for a second and said: “That wasn’t easy.”

My dad’s reply? “I wouldn’t think so.”

There are other stories, but since I’m on dialup, and even being on the computer is painful at the moment, I’ll leave it at that…fictional features? Picasso, even? A return, soon, I promise!

Just let me get my strength back…I also have to help Erin move into a dorm tomorrow. Two moves. 1 week. Arg.