What is the dumbest thing you can do when you have four slipped discs?

Oh, I don’t know, maybe haul around heavy boxes of books, and then drag heavy bookcases through the basement by yourself?

I could have waited until my dad got here with the truck, but no, I had to be a big badass and have the bookcases all ready to rock and roll at the foot of the stairs when he arrived to take them to the new house.

At least I didn’t haul them up the stairs by myself.

I considered it, though.

Because I am a dumbass.

Now half the bookcases and J.’s new twin bed are at the new house, along with what we have been hauling there every week in my mom’s car.

Melinda told me yesterday that this is the slowest move in history, and yes, it is. We’re moving, one fucking lamp at a time.

It’s maddening, but we’re getting the job done.

There are a lot of repairs that still have to be done. For instance, whoever wired the Trance House was most definitely on the crack. Half of the outlets don’t work. You can’t use the microwave when the coffee pot is on, and you can’t use the hair dryer when any other electrical appliance is running.

It’s so charming.

We also still have to paint the kitchen, the J-Man’s room, and the back hallway. I am looking forward to painting the kitchen about as much as I looked forward to my stepbrother sitting on my head and farting. I HATE painting cabinets. What a pain in the ass.

This also means that we are going to have to paint over my painstakingly applied, hand-painted border, done free-hand. It features little red flowers on green vines and is super cute, and I hate to paint over it.

(Here is where I would insert a photo, if I could find the wire to my damned camera.)

Anyway, there’s a lot going on. The J-Man’s new school wants exhaustive proof of residency, which I obviously do not have yet, and this is going to make registering him a little difficult. They also want mortage statements and utility bills, which are all still going to be in my stepdad’s name, so I’m wondering if they are still going to think we’re the sort of people who are just trying to finagle our kid into a better school district by lying.

I’m not sure what to do about this.

In other news, our elderly neighbors moved yesterday. These are the folks that used to take me to the doctor frequently, and were people I spent a whole lot of time with. They had dinners with us, I went over there for morning coffee a lot to chat, and they were very like a third set of grandparents for me.

Diana, who is eighty, still mows her own lawn and works on her own house, and did most of the packing and moving with help from her kids. She’s a powerhouse much in the same vein as my mother – the type that never slows down, the woman that can do anything and everything.

The J-Man used to call her after I’d had seizures, before he was old enough to deal with them on his own, and I would wake up to her soothing voice and a cold cloth on my forehead. It was a nice way to wake up.

John is a few years older and is struggling with prostate cancer. He loves to tell stories about his many interesting jobs, among them a schoolteacher, a fighter pilot in the Air Force, and a cop.

Yesterday I stopped in to say goodbye and John was having a rough day, so much so that he barely spoke. He looked puffy and pale, and sat in the kitchen with a blanket over his lap. I am worried for him, but at the same time I’m glad they’re moving to a quiet retirement community out of the neighborhood which has seen so many bad changes over their lifetime.

I’m going to miss them so.

Happy Wednesday.

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