the hours

4 pm: university hearings finally end. I walk briskly to the loft and hide $1000 under the mattress. I drive recklessly. Sarah K and Susanne D are waiting. Goal: finish getting everything ready for tomorrow’s movers.

5pm: one or the other are endlessly picking up bundles of cardboard boxes at U-Haul as I discover closet after closet of , well, stuff. I probably owe them $1000 for cardboard boxes and tape alone.

6pm: I know now that my booked storage unit is not nearly large enough for all these boxes. Me trying to find another, larger yet not more expensive spot is bloggable in its own right. Sarah and Susanne are not raising eyebrows as choice words come pouring out in frustration.

7pm: I open a beer and drink it straight down on an empty stomach.

8pm: I contemplate finishing off all the vodka in the house. There is a lot of vodka in the house. Sarah and Susanne are calm and steady. I am 100% spinning random thoughts, words, curses. I alternate between throwing things against the wall and sitting down and staring into space. They keep making up boxes, taping, filling, labeling – without a pause, without complaint. I pull out two old books that I want to take back to the loft with me tonight. I am drawn to them, I cannot let them go.

9pm: we pause for a minute.
Nina, have you ever done a garage sale before?
No, well, yes, like when the block was doing one and I had two items to unload.

Why is it that I’m not surprised…Do you have lots of change for tomorrow?
No, but I have lots and lots of twenties.

I’ll bring change for you.
Bring $1000 worth of change.

How is it that you are going to be here for the sale given that the movers are taking your stuff to the loft/storage?
I don’t know…

Can I tell you something?

Must you?

Please do not be surprised if no one comes tomorrow. People do not go to garage sales on a Friday afternoon.
I had no choice, I had no choice…

Just hope that some enterprising thief will break in tonight and cart your loot away.

10pm: Still packing. No time to bag garbage. Discards are thrown in one huge mountain that is reaching the ceiling.

11pm: I check my email. Message from my old law school friend:
When [we] were in Madison last month, you should have told us that if we were real friends, we would have come back for moving week.
Knowing that is in itself a treasure. I know I have been one pathetic specimen this past week. Indeed, I have never ever so shamelessly relied on the strength of others before. To all of you – your offers and your notes totally disarm me. To Sarah and Susanne, who are coming over tomorrow morning and staying for the day to keep me steady: What oh what can I do to show my gratitude?

Midnight: finally, Ocean time.