moving sucks. for months i promised myself that when the time came, i would hire movers. it had been too torturous the last time. i had learned my lesson. so why lord, why oh why, do i find myself packing up my car every single day with whatever i can cram into it and moving by myself? machismo? stinginess? idiocy? yes. and yes and yes.
today i pulled down some shoeboxes from the very top of my closet. the kind of things you keep for years and never open. but i was so tired of lifting things and traipsing up and down the stairs that i opened one up.
cards. hallmarks, shoebox greetings (get it!?). reaching as far back as college graduation. one from the girl i was dating then. haven't spoken to her since we broke up on the phone. i was the bad guy that time around. sorta. it's a long story and i've tried to write about it before on here and given up so maybe you'll never know and i rather doubt you'd be interested anyway. i guess i don't lose much sleep over it anymore. too many other things to toss and turn about.
old birthday cards, old letters. some i remember, some i've forgotten. some pretty emotional shit. god, i don't even talk to a lot of these people anymore. i wonder what they're all up to. it's funny the way i let people come and go and hardly ever hold on tight. i am bad at keeping in touch. notoriously. i hope nobody takes it too personally.
this is going nowhere, clearly. i'm borderline delirious from lugging all my worldly posessions from queens to brooklyn and i've got plenty more to go. you'll have to excuse me. moving sucks.
i found ten dollars that someone gave me for my birthday 3 years ago. so that was nice.