Buddy, Can You Help Me Move?

Words I’ve heard before and hope I never hear again.

In college, I moved a few times and a few more early in my work career.  Whoever thought moving was fun, is in college with few worldly possessions.

Carrying beds, sofas and appliances might have been fun then, but is now punishment. If I ever call you to help me move, hang up.

Packing the little stuff is entirely enough.  Where do all of those plastic tubs and copy paper boxes come from?  No one should have all this stuff.  George Carlin was right.  We collect too much stuff for our needs.  Materialistic bastards.  It’s not up to me to single-handedly to keep this economy going.

If a tornado came through my house, what would I try to save? My laptop computer for sure. My favorite guitar. I’ll sacrifice the others for the insurance. I have a couple of signed books that are valuable. My music collection and films are too numerous to save.  Of my sports collection, my Chamberlain autograph or my Chiefs signed helmet.

I think of downsizing, what a good idea. Then I think of moving. Sorting through my stuff, making decisions, prioritizing, discarding, packing. And then moving all that little stuff.  Screw the big stuff, that’s what movers do.

It used to be that moving led to a moving-in party.  Those are stories from the vault.  When you help a buddy move, that’s a special thing.  When the lava lamp gets dumped on the ground or the turntable is misplaced, friendship is strong enough to survive that.

I don’t have advice like George, but I will say, find a place and stay there.  Moving is for kids, not for adults with bad backs, with lots of stuff.


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