Moving house

On Saturday I helped Ilajna move apartments. It should be noted that when she asked me to move, she neglected to mention that she lived on the fifth floor of a walk-up! Ha. This is just the kind of joke you can play on friends. :)

So Saturday morning found me bright and early in the lobby of her building, gazing up the never-ending spiral of stairs in disbelief. Paulus Maximus had come too, and with a cursory glance at the stairs, and Ilajna's countless boxes, suggested we start by going out for brunch. Wise man.

Then, stumblingly, staggeringly, quiveringly, crashingly, bangingly, laughingly, we somehow managed to transport all the boxes, crates, and bags down the 8 flights of stairs and into the U-haul parked outside. A short drive into Jersey, another bout of furious unloading at the other end, and we were ready to call it a day.

First thing the next morning Ilajna and I reached out to each other to make sure we were both okay.
How's your back feeling? Your arms? Any sore muscles?
I'm fine. You?
Fine too.
Good :)

Not a single sore muscle. I had pleasantly surprised myself. But that was Sunday morning. By evening it was a whole other story; and two days later, there still remains much to be wanted. My body has apparently decided it doesn't like carrying thirty heavy cardboard boxes down five floors. Isn't life full of surprises.