Too stressed to type?
The move from the old to the new LBHQ is 75% done, with only odds and ends (plus dirt) remaining at the old place. Over the years we’ve come to call this the “shrapnel phase”—everything left to move is odd-shaped, loose, and defiant of categorization.
In some ways the shrapnel phase is the worst part of a move. You no longer have a truck (or we don’t, at least), so all this crap has to be moved piecemeal in car trips. You’ve moved all the stuff you care about and use everyday, so it’s hard to generate enthusiasm to finish the job—you start to think about abandoning the shrapnel…but you’re not quite sure what might be hiding in it or underneath it (like the brandy glasses that disappeared two moves ago?). Psychologically, you’ve moved on. You’re in a new place; you’ve put things away nicely, and it sure looks tidy without…the shrapnel.
And that’s where we’re at, my fellow inebriates. The mega-stressful part is over, and there’s a sense of renewal and rebuilding. But there’s that nagging pile of crap back at the old place, which we really should go and get. So my dad’s doing it today. And once it’s done, his stress level should go down.
Which is bad. I mean, yeah, sure, I like my dad and all; I don’t want him to give himself an ulcer. But I’ve been enjoying the way my parents have coped with this move—they’ve bought alcohol. And I worry that when they’re finally finished moving, they’ll stop doing that, or at least reduce their liquor spending to the dull roar they aspire to.
This is what we had been buying per month:
- Beer: 1 case plus the occasional specialty one-off
- Wine: 2 bottles
This is what we bought up to and during our move:
- Gin: 2 750mL bottles plus mickeys for our Shoot-Out
- Beer: 3 cases and two six-packs
- Wine: 3 bottles
This represented a sizeable uptick. Sadly, I can’t count on them to keep the spending up. They’re already remorseful. Did it at least relieve their stress?
Apparently not. No one wants to be my paws tonight on the keyboard. Looks like we are stressed.