kenjisan

What's worse than moving?

Being sick and moving. My beautiful singing voice has been hijacked by some kind of terrible chest cold and both rent and the new home will wait for no man. So here I am at last, moved in*.

It's not really that I hate moving, but more the Act of moving. In theory, moving is something that I could love: change of location, change of pace, wiping the slate clean, throwing out all the refuse that had filled in the cracks at the old place. There's a kind of rebirth that emerges from a move, like getting a new job or new computer, and that is something I like. It's really the Act that I hate: so many boxes, so much complete crap that I can't either part with or live without. There's the loading and unloading of the truck/car. There are those stairs upon stairs to climb. Really, pretty much every aspect of the Act is, well, the worst.

Throw a sickness on top of "the worst" and you get the worster. And let me tell you, the worster isn't a happy place to be. Still, here I sit on a (really tall) bed, typing away in a room cluttered with opened and unopened boxes, and I am happy. Maybe that's because the Act is almost over. Why does looking at the Ikea catalog make me wish I was going to stay here longer? Am I becoming domesticated at last? Have we witnessed an evolution of Kenji before our very eyes?

I don't really think so, but let's just say that I'm beginning to see the merits of staying put, and leave it at that. Who knows what will come next? Maybe I'll finally understand all those crazy people who want to raise children...

*And by moved in, I mean I have a bed with sheets on it surrounded by boxes.