M.I.A

We are on the move, Loyal Reader. Literally. And I’ve missed precious blogs because of it. But it’s A-okay. I’m gonna make it up to you in 3…2…1! Go! Go! Go!

Presenting the first of three catch-up posts.

They’ll be smaller and kinda fluffy, but they’ll get me back on track so tomorrow I can fall back into the daily groove.

So then… Moving is tough, huh?

It’s different for me than you though. You have to lift this gargantuan piece of furniture or that oblong, bursting box. You strain. You grunt and groan and curse the little bruises that’ll surely grow into large bruises overnight.

What do I do?

I sit and watch you struggle.

Which sucks for everyone! You wish I could get off my bony butt (it’s true – not much rump fat there – my butt isn’t much more than a cradle of unforgiving bone) and do something. I wish I could lend a hand.

Box corners call me.

Furniture lips and handy, jutting overhangs taunt me.

Oh, Loyal Reader, how I hate being unwell.

Doctor’s orders, or rather, my body’s limitations – keep me down. I have no choice in the matter. I can’t do what I physically want to do and it is as frustrating as all get out!

 

(Truth!)

My tough friends pitched in. They’re all hovering around the six-foot+ mark and they’ve got the muscles to make things happen. An extra special blog THANKS for their concerted efforts. They really saved the day. The amount of work they put in was phenomenal.

The worst part of the move is standing by and watching my wife and kid lug their hearts out. I WANT TO HELP, dammit! But my wife insists and my body can’t lift anything anyhow and…

Oh, damn. I’ll leave it at that I suppose.

 

Cool guitar solo to The Jefferson’s theme, Movin’ On Up

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