Moving Makes You Free

[And no, I'm not quite done yet. I left some crockery at the old apartment, and my corner of the storage unit still needs to be attended to. However, I'm going to call the move Done for now. I no longer live in downtown San Francisco.]

[Elements of the last two days:]

[-Retracing again and again a trapezoidal figure between the old apartment, the new flat, and points in the Mission and on Potrero Hill to manage my help and feed and walk the Ridiculously Large (and, I fear, Somewhat Lonely) Mastiff. Geary to Masonic to Page to Cole to Oak to Gough to Valencia to 17th to Texas to 7th to Leavenworth to Geary. Lather, rinse, repeat]

[-All the grass is brown and sky is gray. Not terrible weather for moving, actually.]

[-Anxious feelings of not using my time well enough.]

[-Fatigue-driven, fairly tasteless jokes with helpers Dennis, Sean, and Allen. "Arbeit macht frei" is not funny. Stop! Also? The German word for traffic is made idiomatically very durrrrty when properly modified. Yes, that was our level.]

[-A late-afternoon margarita, even just one, is not conducive to making one final push. Zzzzzz...]

[-Mmmm, shawerma.]

[-Not mmmm, dust-bunnies. But..."don't bother to clean, you know how I love to vacuum." In the ex-roomate's case, this is simple truth, not "please just get out already" fake politeness.]

[The best part? I'm housesitting, so I can take time getting all my crap sorted at the new place, finding a new bed, etc. Things really couldn't have worked out better.]

[But I am tired. Moving...well, there's nothing to say about it that hasn't already be said. It's done.]

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