Fairwell to the Chud cave
July 8, 2008
I moved again. This will be my 14th home in the past ten years. There are murderous drifters that maintain a more static address. Mind, every house has been within an eight block radius: more pacing, I suppose, than wandering proper. I’m not sure if it’s boredom with status quo that drives me, or just a delayed awareness of a poor initial choice…repeatedly.
I left my couch, entertainment unit, and air conditioner behind. There was no specific grudge: they had just outlived there usefulness. I also discarded a poorly funded library’s worth of books, three quarters of my dishes, and the clothes of a smaller man of questionable taste. It took 40 minutes to pack the truck, and 20 to unload it. My life takes an hour to transport. I am unsure how to feel about that. The movers charged me an extra hour for the time it may have taken them to get to my house. This seems unfair, but my friends assure that sort of hypothetical billing is the norm.
After the fact I realized I had failed to transport my cat. The Jewish lass lent a cat carrier that was laughably undervolumed for the task. Felica’s girth required it be disassembled, then reassembled around her… the sort of accommodation normally reserved for vast tunnel borers, or the relocation of antique houses. The walk home tested the limits of my will, and the ligaments in my shoulders. She seemed to be pulling nutrients directly from the air; spitefully increasing her mass with every step. It was a long walk.
Halfway home the ache and empty streets left me feeling inexplicably like the Incredible Hulk.
The new place is cool. High ceilings, big square rooms, no Chud cave. A pianist lives in the apartment above me: I feel like I need to start doing classier things so I can better suit my soundtrack. My bathroom is gleaming and tiled, with the acoustics of a room five times it’s size. I am beginning to suspect this apartment was intended for someone with a deeper appreciation of community theatre.
Unpacking will come in it’s own time.
 This is untrue in the couches case. It was a incremental betrayer of the highest order, failing to fulfill the most basic tenants of couchdom.