Moving the Belongings

Tonight’s my last night in my old apartment. Assuming everything goes well, I should be moved into my new place tomorrow night. Of course, various worries are travelling the well-worn pathway in my brain. What if they don’t have a U-Haul for me? What if when I double-park I block someone in? What if it gets towed while I’m waiting for my friends to show up? What if the floors aren’t really finished and it turns out I can’t move in tomorrow night after all? What if something breaks? What if Tall Red-Haired Guy and Wes both help me move and they wind up hitting it off together? (Well, that I shouldn’t care about.)

None of those things is going to happen, so there’s no point worrying about any of it. It’s what I do, though. But really, the move’s going to go fine.

Today I took myself to the movies. Twice. In the afternoon I saw “Waking Life” and in the evening I saw “Trembling Before G-d,” a documentary about gay and lesbian Orthodox Jews. So I had a Present Participle Movie Day. There are so many Present Participle Movies, aren’t there? Educating Rita. Eating Raoul. Boxing Helena. Breaking Away. Kicking and Screaming (ooh, a double). Leaving Las Vegas. Waiting to Exhale. Saving Private Ryan. Riding in Cars With Boys. Being John Malkovich.

Can you think of any others?

In between the two movies I had Thai food at Lemongrass, on 12th and University. I read “Hornito” while I ate. I had a table by the front window. Two tables away there were a man and a woman eating together. The woman had the loudest voice. I guess it was the type of situation where the man fell in love with the woman before he realized how loud she was, but by the time he realized her volume problem, it was too late — he’d already fallen hopeleslly in love with her. He had no choice but to accept this flaw.

Maybe that’s how we imperfect people wind up in couples.

Well, that’s one way, anyway.

So it was a day of aloneness. Not loneliness, but aloneness. (There’s a difference.) Really, most of the weekend was like that, except for hanging out with a gay couple on Friday night and going box-hunting with Tall Red-Haired Guy yesterday afternoon. I thought of going to Andy’s 4th Annual 30th Birthday Party last night, and I was almost going to go. But I was just way too tired, so I wound up staying in. Sorry, Andy. I’m sure it was a great party, though.

My social life really needs a kick in the pants to get moving.

Speaking of moving, I should be moved out of here in 24 hours. Oh, please let everything go okay. Please please please.

Didn’t moving rank as one of the most stressful life events, according to some stress-related survey a few years ago?

Anyway, I might not be able to blog until Wednesday, since I’m moving two days earlier than expected and my new phone service isn’t supposed to be connected until Wednesday. (Maybe I’ll look into a cable modem, like Bonibaru suggested.)

So have fun, everyone. Think of Present Participle Movies while I’m gone.

Boxes

Packing is going wonderfully. The books are a pain — well, they’re not a pain to pack, but the boxes that they’re in are going to be a pain to lift. Bend at the knees… and lift with the knees, not with the back. That’s right. As for the other stuff, I’m going to have an odds-n-ends box in which I’ll put remote controls and random little things. I already have a dishes box, and not many dishes, so that will be okay. Other things don’t need to be boxed — microwave, et cetera. It’s going to be exhausting to move, but it will be over and done with soon.

I went over to the place last night and refreshed my memory about the layout. I’m so happy! I can’t wait. And it’s quiet. I mean, while I was in the apartment I heard the phone ring in the apartment upstairs, but maybe that’s just apartment life. I’ve pretty much become used to sleeping with the fan on anyway. Oh, that washer and dryer… and the nice floors… and the mantel in the living room… and the little storage room off the living room… and cable TV (finally)… and the quiet streetscape when I look out the front windows, instead of an ugly noisy street. There are these nice recessed houses across the street with porches that make me think of New Orleans. And there’s this trendy lunch/coffeeshop around the corner. And there’s this trendy little bar/restaurant a couple of blocks away. And I’m even closer to the big Shop-Rite supermarket and the mall than I was before.

I stood there, imagining a nice quiet Friday night alone in my apartment, able to chill out on the couch and watch TV because 1) it won’t be noisy outside and 2) I’ll have good reception, even cable. And when the Piano Man gets back, maybe he can join me. Or I can join him. Or whatever. It’s gonna be swell.

Monday night will be my first night there. Yippee!

Today I went through my clothes closet. I must have bagged half the clothes for donations. I rarely throw out clothes, but I decided I finally needed to do it. So I’d take out a pair of pants and think, “Hmm, these basically still fit. I could still wear them.” And then I’d remember that I hadn’t worn them in at least two years, and I’d toss them into a bag. I stuffed five shopping bags full of shirts and pants and a ratty tuxedo I wore for seven years in university choruses and rarely washed. Into the bag. White Oxford shirts with indelible collar stains? Into the bag. Carpenter pants that I never wore? The green jeans I never wore? The baggy blue jeans I bought when I first came out of the closet? All into the bag.

Then my friend Tall Red-Haired Guy came by. We loaded his car with the bags and then dropped them off in these big black bins in the supermarket parking lot. The bins are specifically for old clothes and toys. Toys? That’s kind of weird. I imagined someone tossing a Fisher-Price A-Frame House with all the Little People into this big dark scary bin. Interesting.

Then we went to Mailboxes Etc. I’d planned to buy 20 boxes, but they were $4.75 each. So I decided to screw that idea. Instead I bought six smaller boxes, and then we went to the supermarket, where we got tons of boxes for free. If you ever need boxes, go to the supermarket. They’re practically giving them away!

Well, they are giving them away, really.

Anyway, I’ve packed up most of my books and all of my CDs, bagged my old newspapers, gotten rid of my old clothes, got commitments from three or four people to help me move. And it will be over and done by Monday night.

I might not have my new phone service hooked up until Wednesday, though, so it’s possible I won’t be blogging for a couple of days — I’m sure not going to blog from work anymore. But maybe the phone people will be nice and hook up my phone service a couple days early. We’ll see.

I’ve been eating crappily lately. Not enough fruits or whole grains, and too much red meat and sugar. Today I had a scrambled egg sandwich for breakfast, a piece of pecan pie for lunch, cheese and crackers for a late snack, a chocolate donut for a later snack. I don’t really have much food in the apartment now, either, so dinner will probably be a sandwich from Subway. Thank god for high metabolism. I hope I’m always this svelte.

And hey, my urethra’s doing great, thanks!

Imaginarium

I think I have psychosomatic urethritis.

My urinary tract has been bothering me a tiny bit these last couple of days, but I can’t tell if there’s really something going on down there or if it’s just my imagination. It’s not painful, just a little tingly. Does anthrax cause bladder infections? No. Well, not yet, at any rate. But I’m sure someone’s working on it.

To be honest, I didn’t start feeling weird down there until I began reading about Choire’s minor Q-Tip episode. So I suspect this is completely psychosomatic. I mean, I get dizzy and short of breath and start squirming in my seat when I watch a drug scene in a movie, because I’m afraid I’m going to get contaminated merely by watching it happen on celluloid. (Parts of Traffic made me cringe.)

I sometimes worry that my mind has strange powers over me. Sometimes I wonder if I will cause my own death merely by thinking about it too much. I mean, human beings are such fragile, remarkable creatures. We’re completely organic. What the fuck keeps us alive for so long?

I do know that I can bring myself to the brink of insanity merely by forcing myself to think hard about what would exist if there were no universe.

So, anyway, this could be totally psychosomatic. Psychosomatic illness can be caused by anxiety. So I’m wondering, is there anything that’s made me anxious lately? Hmm… other than the slow disintegration of the American way of life and a recurring fear of death when riding the subway or opening my mail, nothing, really.

Oh, that reminds me — I meant to link to this yesterday (sent to me by Choire). I think you have to be in a certain frame of mind to find it funny. Me, I practically snorted milk out of my nose.

Anyway, back to my bladder. I’m pretty sure I don’t have an STD, because I’m not having any sort of discharge down there and there’s no swelling or discoloration, and besides, on the rare occasions that I have intercourse, I use a condom. Always.

I have been eating a lot of spicy chili this week, though. I made a big batch of chili on Sunday night, and I’ve had it for dinner every night this week. Maybe that has something to do with it.

Anyway! I have the keys to my new apartment, and the former tenants have moved out, and so I’m about to go over and take measurements and reacquaint myself with the place. The floors are going to be redone — they were going to start doing it on Monday, but it turns out they may start tomorrow, in which case I can move in on Monday. That would be swell.

Later tonight I’m probably going out with some people. And this weekend I’m going to buy boxes and pack up most of my belongings.

Gosh, if not for all my books, moving would be so easy.

I think I’ll just give up reading anything at all — books, newspapers, street signs — and hire a mime.