a note on moving: don’t do it.

I’m not sure who Murphy is, but if I ever unlock the identity of the man behind the infamous laws, I’m going to buy him a round. When Murphy remarked, “Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” he almost certainly referred to the act of moving apartments in New York City.

Or, as my friend– the Beloved Roommate– recently remarked, “I’l l raise my babies in this apartment before I move out.” Why? Because carrying the contents of your life down a fourth floor walk up and up a fifth floor walk up is masochistic. Because buying curtains to create the semblance of privacy inside a bedroom meant to be a living room is downright absurd. And because standing in line at IKEA for two hours just to buy a spatula and an energy efficient light bulb is all together unfair.

Despite all this, I somehow find myself in the throes of  moving– boxing up two years of post-collegiate life into 8-10 extra large Home Depot boxes. Now the art of placing all my material belongings into flimsy pieces of cardboard is in and of itself a chore, but of course, as Murphy is quick to note, “Whenever you set out to do something, something else must be done first.”

Before I could box up the contents of my old apartment, I needed to create a semblance of a bedroom in my new apartment. The first order of business, given the time of year: uninstall the air conditioner unit in Nolita and re-install it in Brooklyn. A seemingly simple process, right?

Enter Teresa– a robust former stage manager capable of assembling and disassembling entire theatrical sets across the country. Together she and I embarked on removing my AC unit, and together we watched as it plummeted three stories down to its untimely death. And sizzled. So instead of AC installation, the first order of business became acquiring an AC support system to ensure we didn’t send another  indispensable cooling unit to an early demise.

And while Teresa worked on building a sturdy AC support system, I logically turned to my curtains– which according to the package they arrived in– were the exact same size. Well I  suppose this wasn’t China’s finest workmanship because there was actually a 5 inch difference in length between them. Rather than schlep back to the store for an exchange, though, my mother recommended we safety pin the bottom of the longer curtain.

Her idea seemed like sheer brilliance; a classic demonstration of problem solving skills at work. I’d run to the drugstore and pick up a pack. But of course drug store #1 was sold out, drug store #2 was closed for Memorial Day, and drug store #3 only sold an assorted colorful array of pins. And Lord knows how I loathe colors.

Throw in a few crooked windows, some rainy days, and a smashed mirror, and I, too, have resigned myself to raise my future children in my new apartment. I mean, it least it has a stoop.

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