Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

#500: THE MOVE, SHE IS NEARLY DONE

At this very moment, I am sitting on the hardwood floor in our new apartment with this laptop propped up on two small boxes. It's quite hard on the bum. Also, I am hungry, but we have nothing but tortilla chips and salsa in the cupboards. This will be brief.

On the 29th and 30th, we packed like mad things.

We shook our heads at the balls of cat hair that rolled through the newly opened spaces like tumbleweeds.

We took beer breaks when the chaos of Too Much Stuff threatened to overwhelm our rationality. Too Much Stuff is a beast that begs to be taken to the dumpster out back once and for all. I hate Too Much Stuff, so we kept most of it to keep it from achieving its dumpster dreams. Am I making any sense yet? No?

movingThis picture is deceiving, because eventually our living room was much more full of crap and much less peaceful looking.


Then, it was yesterday, the first of July, Canada Day, and it was very hot. We didn't hire movers, because we prefer to torture our generous friends with things like portable dishwashers and bed frames that cannot be disassembled. Such was one friend's appreciation of moving our heavy belongings in the heat that he threw up over the railing. The other friend grew redder and redder until we found him splayed out on the lawn in a mock crucifixion. One friend of ours was smarter than the others and only showed up for forty-five minutes at the end.

Then we ran out of time on our rental truck.

Our puking friend and our red-faced friend are such awesome friends that one is bringing his own truck over today so that they can move the dribs and drabs of what is left, including our bird, to this new apartment. That's love, I tell you.

We still have to clean the other place of its cat fluff and dirty cupboards and fingerprinted doorframes. We didn't hire cleaners, either.

I don't know why I mention that we didn't hire movers or cleaners. We do not possess mounds of cash to throw at other people to do labour we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.

Today, though, I wish we were, as I look ahead to scrubbing floors and an oven and walls and windows and those creepy high shelves in the closets.

Later, when I have a better seating arrangement with this laptop, I will tell you exactly how much I like our new apartment. The Fiery One is good at the apartment-finding, he is.

Except for one thing: our new bathroom is tiny. It even has a miniature tub that you can have your legs in or your body in but not both, unless you are very small. We are not. Farewell, sweet bathroom of reasonable size in the other apartment that I will clean today and then never see again.

old bathroom

Places I've read recently: QCumberland, the Hippest Kid, and Cactus Report.