You know you’re a Minnesotan/North Dakotan when you roll your windows down ’cause it hit 35.
Of course, this weekend it was a great deal warmer than that, and pretty much everybody rolled their windows down, or wore short sleeves. Even those with thinner skin dispensed with their coats.
It’s been great weather for moving.
So naturally I slacked the whole weekend and moved a bare three carloads of stuff across town to my new apartment. On one hand, slow and steady wins the race, and I have generally ambled in the direction of moving more stuff over there. After the first trip with just one carload, my… well, my everything hurt.
And if I were keeping a swear jar, I’d probably have enough money to retire by now, between hitting various bits of my anatomy on various sharp and/or hard objects, dropping things, and dropping various sharp and/or hard objects on various bits of my anatomy.
But after four trips, spread across several days, I’m only a bit stiff.
This is an especially good thing because my wonderful coworker is going to help me move a couple of the larger objects this evening after work.
You know, the larger objects, like the table that weighs more than 17.3 Indian elephants, and the TV stand that I have about as much chance of moving with the power of positive thinking as I do with the power of my flabtastic arms. I think my end tables are made of rocks, or possibly anvils.