A Moving Experience… of Moving

Last weekend I helped my parents move. Not as much as I should have, since I slept in like a big lump and had to rest after every couple of boxes, but I did help. We moved two bookshelves full of books, almost everything from our downstairs bathroom and almost everything from my brother’s room.

Quite a bit of it involved going up and down the steps to the basement in the new house, and yesterday I was walking around the office like an old woman: taking very small steps and moving quite slowly. My knees are bad but they’re not as bad as my mother’s knees, so I tried to be the one going up and down steps whenever possible. It worked out pretty well, actually, but apparently swimming every day isn’t sufficiently exercising my calves, because yesterday and today they were on fire.

Okay, so that’s an exaggeration. They’re just very stiff. Oddly, my arms and back don’t hurt at all, so clearly the swimming is helping. I simply have not mastered the stairs. I need a stairmaster. I also need the willpower to actually use a stairmaster, which would pretty much be a miracle, so while I’m asking for that I’d also like a pony, thicker hair and the ability to play the guitar while still having long fingernails.

Anyway, the house is looking better and better every time I see it.

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