This is the third time that I have tried to write this piece. If you can imagine, I’m getting pissy… It’s okay though. Third time is the charm anyway.

I know, long time, no post. I’ve been busy to say the least. I won’t bore you with the last month of my life though, don’t worry. I will tell you that trying to organize my multiple personalities has turned into quite the challenge. Keeping the writing stride, fiancee stride, working stride, school stride and the million other strides has been difficult at best. All is well though. I think I’m getting the hang of it. I just moved, into my very own two bedroom apartment. I now have a beautiful office, complete with all of my books. It is brilliant.

Pictures to follow when I figure out how to work this stupid thing. It is quite amazing how productive I am in this office. Well, that’s all I have for now, but below is the piece that I am workshopping in class today. Hope you find it amusing.

Heavy Lifting and New Neighbor Sifting

I walk up the stairs for what seems the millionth time this evening. Moving is no easy task and as much as I hate it, I’ve done it four times since I came to college three years ago. The prospect of my own two bedroom apartment was just too much to resist, so here I am, moving again. “I’ve decided you have too many books” says Chelsy, my best friend, on the fifth box of books that she luggs up the stairs to what will soon be my new office.

“I know,” I reply, “but where would you be without your own personal library at your fingertips?”

“True,” she says, and then we continue on our way, walking from car, up stairs, into apartment, and back again.

My favorite thing about moving is finding things that I’ve lost, misplaced, or otherwise completely forgotten about. The move before this one, I found the under twenty-one arm band from my first concert with friends, which is now hiding in a book somewhere so that I can find it again someday. This time, however, I didn’t finding any new old things because I was so ready to be through that I didn’t pay much attention.

I hated my old apartment. I’m not sure if it was really the apartment that I hated or more the situation that I found myself in. After living by myself for six months, I thought that saving money and getting a roommate was a good idea. Since then I’ve decided that no amount of money saved is worth the headache of the situation I was in. After a year of a horrible roommate, I knew it was time to get my own place. In all actuality, I probably knew less than a month into the one year lease that I was going to hate having a roommate.

The first trip up the stairs to my new place I was bombarded with the stench of tobacco smoke and quite a bit of alcohol. As I stomped up the stairs all I was thinking was how this might not work out. When before I had even passed the new neighbor’s door I could hear the music, I knew we were probably going to have problems. “I am a professional college student, I work thirty hours a week! I am trying to get away from the chaos of roommate life and all the problems it brings, and I get stuck with the apartment next to the party animals,” I complain to my fiancee as I’m unlocking the door.

“Casey, it’s Friday night, what do you expect?” Nathan is the level-headed one in our relationship.

With me still fuming, we continue the moving process, and my apartment becomes a mess of bags, boxes, and random things stacked everywhere. Day one of moving ends around two in the morning, but everything is partially where it goes, so that the next day all the big furniture could come in with no problem. Six o’clock came way too early on Saturday, but there was hair to save. I worked from eight until two, then came home to finish moving. My coworker and close friend, Holly, volunteered her truck and her time to help get the rest of my things. After moving a dresser, bedside table, bistro table and two chairs, a couch, a loveseat, a coffee table and two end tables, we were all exhausted, but there was more to move.

When I decided I was going to get to move, the first thing I did was start looking for office furniture. I’ve always wanted an office, and this seemed like a perfect opportunity to set one up. I had huge plans for what I envisioned as my own personal writing lair where I would be able to sit for hours on end with little to no interruption. I would have a place to do homework and to store all of my books that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to part with. The desk ended up being the hugest thing of all and after two days of heavy lifting, none of us knew how we were going to get it all up the stairs.

It’s a five piece set of cherry wood awesomeness. A large front section that faces the outside world and has a smaller piece coming off of it on one side. Behind that, there is a comuter desk, fully equipped with a cabinet disguised as drawers to hide away the printer. The front of the desk is beautifully designed with molded sections. The desk also came with two tall book shelves that, although they won’t hold all of my books, definitely help. The set is beautiful, but heavy.

We get the first load into the truck, drive it to my new appartment, and we all spend a few minutes staring at it all. It’s overwhelming, knowing what we’ve moved in a few hours, and knowing that we still had the heaviest still to go. We get the smaller piece and work our way upstairs with it, Nathan walking backwards with the heavy end, me underneath the desk lifting from where the chair normally is, and Holly holding up the rear. As we make our slow way up the stairs, me steadily fighting, trying to lift and keep the drawers from falling out, my new neighbors come out and surprise me with offers of help.

This isn’t the first offer of help they’ve given us during the moving process, but it is the first that I accept. The first time they offered their help, we were still moving the small stuff, and I didn’t want to bother them with that, so I politely said, “thank you, but I think we’ve got it”, when I wanted to say “yes, actually, why don’t you help me by making your apartment smell like something other than alcohol and cigarettes because it’s contaminating the stairway.” Obviously, as I’m carrying up the desk all I can think is how glad I am that I kept my mouth shut.

They then waited outside for us to finish moving the one part of the desk upstairs, and when we came downstairs the neighbor and his friends jumped into the truck and moved the rest of the desk pieces for us. I told them thank you, and smiled at my own misconceptions.

I always find new old things when I move.

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