You may or may not know of the move in our very near future. The T.C. staff is off to the northern end of the Windy City. It’s a big change. (Mainly because CHI is considered a city even outside of the regional area.)

The relocation is only part of it.

Girlfriend and I are reducing our television consumption to three hours per week for the summer. What better time to start than after a one-way trip with a sixteen-foot truck?

I’ve gotten into bicycling-as-transportation. (Stifle your applause, hippies; I still shower often.) CHI has more on-street lanes and paths. We’ll also have nearly all of our staples (including ice cream) within two miles.

We’re moving to a residential neighborhood. There won’t be any drunks yelling after midnight. There won’t be the seventeen roaring past every fifteen minutes (or planes every hour, for that matter). I won’t sleep well for a bit.

Tired of all the gradients on this site? Want a splash of one other color? (Do you even read it here?) You’re in luck, because T.C. is getting an overhaul in the near future. (S’bout time, right? ‘Get in your car’ was the 800th post!)

Most importantly, Girlfriend and I will live in a place people actually want to visit. My sunny disposition is adequate but that’s with friends only threatening visits every two years or so.

It’s been awhile since there has been so much flux. I’m excited.

Photo courtesy Mikeyexists on Flickr

The cost effectiveness and physical exhaustion were necessary given my current situation. But throughout the day I was one spilled box from a panic attack. As that may sound absurd, please allow elaboration.

Back a bit ago, I moved furniture for less than a living wage and pathetic tips. It was not my finest hour. I spent some time packing on pounds working an office job and put it behind me. Until yesterday.

Every slow trip on the elevator, unsealed box or awkward strain to long-unused muscles took me back to slaving over other people’s things while they watched, paranoid, like bum-winged hawks with nothing better to do. (How’s that for a run-on?)

It was a horrifying experience not even close to worth it. I will find a way (selling organs? fluids?) to afford someone else moving my things. It’s not worth flashbacks to giant armoires, fire-proof safes or the throbbing of all my muscles screaming in anguish simultaneously.

Wait, what was I talking about? Oh. Right. I’m now closer to the action* so you’re up for meeting, drop me a line. Hmm… that doesn’t seem to be the point at all… whatever. It’s hard to keep a train of thought with a stack of boxes mocking you from the corner.

* herein meaning Lyle’s Liquor Lounge