Moving from one abode to another is fun. But, the day you move is just the beginning. Like surviving a nuclear war, shit just gets more interesting afterwards. As an example, consider getting dressed for work. In the dark. In a house littered with boxes. This morning, I was pretty much nailing my audition for the next installment of American Gladiator. Im going with ICU Daddy as my name on that show. You are not surprised. My dog. She gets confused now. Has no idea where she is. Sometimes the backyard, sometimes the living room, sometimes in a box. Days go by and nobody has seen her. Then, she pops up a box marked basement or living room. Actually, the easiest way to find her is to turn off the lights and walk. I will immediately trip over her. My kids are doing great with the move. All their toys are upstairs next to their rooms. They have created a wild society up on the third floor. There is a new government, a social hierarchy and a clear mandate from the voters that parents are not allowed. I think the war paint made of ox blood on their faces is a nice touch. I am a little disturbed by my youngest saying REDRUM that much. Actually, its his first finger on his right hand that says it. His lips never move. Almost as creepy as when his head spins around and around. My wife has the blueprint in her head for how all of this comes together. Cable and Internet are being installed today, so my vitals signs should return to normal soon. She places me in the Man Cave when I come home from work and knocks on the door the next morning to met me know its time to leave. I am generally in the way. In fact, I have been mistaken for a box. And the dog. Slowly, life is returning to our variant of normal. I have advice for you: do not move ever. For any reason. I will be buried in this house. Its just easier.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Nov 2014 10:59:39 +0000
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