The Scourge of Man: Part 1

So, not to be a downer or anything, but something has happened in my life that has affected me on a personal, political, and above all, palatable (I really wanted three ‘p’ words) scale. I am not unique. This has happened to millions of people and will certainly happen to me again at some point. I speak, of course, of the scourge of moving.

Yes, I will be moving in a couple weeks time and I’ve begun the arduous process of looking at my apartment and saying ‘damn, I gotta lotta stuff’ and thinking about putting it into boxes. No, I haven’t actually packed anything yet, this is still the preliminary stage where I just stare at the piles of crap in my apartment and wonder how many moving vans I’ll need to get it all where it needs to go.

And frankly, my apartment isn’t pretty. In fact, it looks like a warzone. There’re piles of books, broken exercise equipment, bloodstains on the walls, an operating table (now covered in comics) from when I tried to reanimate dead bugs, a sort of shapeless mound in the corner that might be clothes, but may in fact be a ninja just disguised as a pile of clothes (I’ll stab it to make sure), and the thing in the fireplace that screams when I get too near. And that’s just in the living room.

I won’t bother describing the rest of the apartment, as I do try to keep this a PG-13 blog. Let’s just say that the Marine from Doom, an individual who fought his way into Hell so he could shoot a gigantic demon in the kneecaps with a rocket launcher, would probably faint three steps into my bathroom.

And honestly, right now it’s fairly clean (for me).

Now, the actual packing and moving isn’t bad. It’s the other, seven hundred things you have to do that irritate me.

You have to:
Find another apartment
Inform your current apartment you’re leaving
Find a safe place to dump the bodies
Turn off your utilities
Have a combination farewell/bludgeoning party for the ninjas
Turn on your utilities
Get cable
Have your mail forwarded
Figure out why you have a pie plate filled with human teeth on top of your bookshelf

The hardest part is getting your friends to help. Strangely enough, all of mine leapt at the chance to come over and carry stuff. This may because I asked them individually at 4:30 am when they were asleep. I should note that I was wearing a hockey mask and carrying a weed whacker and a plastic dinosaur. Needless to say, they were very enthusiastic.

My next big task will be getting boxes and opening the door to the spare room, a realm no man has seen since 1937. I’ll let you know how that turns out.

Cheers,
-Jason