this imploding heart

You're a testament to youth in verse

Yes, it's still all about moving.

The Summit, she is a-molding. After the great flood of ought-four, the building manager had a carpet cleaner come in and vaccuum up the water, then he put a big fan in the closet to 'dry it out'. Remember that whole 'enough water to fill a large mixing bowl every few minutes' description? Doesn't it seem that if that much water was coming through the holes in the floor, that you might...I dunno... pull up the carpet and get into the surrounding walls? Maybe?

The closet in Tiny's old room is bursting with mold spores now, and the carpet that got wet is positively crunchy. The hallway smells like dead wet dog.

But I'm moving out of it, so who cares!

Dad came over and pretty much finished the proverbial research paper last night. His new van is big enough to lay my double bed down flat in, so we were able to take almost everything over in 2 loads. Everything, really, except my clothes-on-hangers and the cedar chest.

Regarding the cedar chest: Dad walked over and simply lifted up his end. "Lets go."

I bent down, established my grip, engaged my leg and butt muscles and hefted with all my might.

Nothing. Not even the slightest little flutter.

"Ha! Don't ever say your old man can't kick your ass."*

*calm it down there, tiger. my dad has never hit or made any moves to hit me in a violent way. All the beatings I get are filled with love.

Posted by Sonya at July 27, 2004 09:03 AM