As we waited for our turns to play ping-pong at lunch yesterday, I asked a colleague from accounting if there was anything worse than moving. He said, "Prison." Maybe our society could reduce the recidivism rate by adding the moving of heavy sofas up and down several flights of stairs to the prisoners' daily regimen.
To put it simply, moving stinks. Luckily, with some help and an appropriate vehicle or two, the hardest parts of moving can be completed in half a day. At least that's what I'm hoping. I don't mind boxing up my things or unpacking them. I can almost derive a certain enjoyment from organizing a new living space (which there will be even more of, this time around). But making those 100 trips up and down stairs burdened with boxes and furniture and whatever else is easily the least enjoyable thing I can imagine.
Alas, I'm one of those people who sustains himself on his own negativity. If I can imagine everything that could possibly go wrong, I can prepare myself for its inevitability: Murphy's Law made productive. Hmm, I wonder if old Murphy is free on Saturday.