2003-05-07 - 2:42 a.m.

I remember moving into Somerville One. God, that was so great. The (ex) and I took time off from work, I think it was a long weekend plus a day. It felt like forever. In fact, it�s still in me, so I guess it was.

Maybe it was the smoking, but every inch of that place I cleaned, I felt the apartment loving me a little more. I was amazed at how much cat hair could get into an un-peak-able crevice. I even moved the fridge (it was in a fridge-nook), climbed on top of it, and cleaned underneath--behind it. I got a little stuck, but I must have gotten out OK, right?

Moving is weird. After having your shit in more or less the same place forever, you decide what of your shit you actually wanna keep, and throw away the rest. As good as you�ve been about cleaning, you get a little mad at your ultimate, cumulative negligence--I mean, look how dusty the nasty corners got. You spend an hour or so going through a box that�s been packed and untouched by naught but dust for over a year, and call it getting work done.

That day comes, and you blow two week�s worth of energy packing the shit that made the cut into a van as quickly as possible, and then you have to say your goodbyes, and that�s twice as hard. I�ve had to make peace with a number of places that loved me, and it�s still hard to think about it. I always end with the wow, this place is empty cigarette. I�ve always been the last out, which is good �cause there�s always tears.

OK--so we get all our crap into the van, then there�s getting it all in. Which is a pain in the ass. And then it�s in. And you got all these neat boxes of clothes and toiletries that you gotta put away. And silverware in the living room. And nice, obvious stuff that you can check off the list.

And when that�s done, you�re stuck with no energy at all. And haphazard boxes full of VCR cables and Scope and tapes that only work on a 4-track you don�t own anymore, and scissors, and a book, that you didn�t pack �till the last minute. Something always gets broken. And you gotta find someplace to put everything.

Thing is, you just exhausted yourself physically. If you�re like me, you�re an emotional wreck (but I�m a man about it on the outside, believe you me). I mean, it�s a big ordeal.

So let me ask you, should anyone in such a state be making any more major decisions?

And then here it is--should my bed go this way, or this way? And the rest of the room follows.

It�s like getting new glasses--unless you�re wicked rich, once you make a decision, unless it was a really, really, really, really bad decision, you�re stuck with that decision for a really long time.

I was aware of this when I set my stuff up, and I made some choices I can live with. I like the way my room looks, too, and it makes me happy being here.

Thing is, though, I�m a lazy jackass with an excuse--I work late nights and on weekends, and have very little time in which to hang pictures (do dishes, laundry), etc.

So I still got kinda bare walls, even though I�ve been here six months. I got artwork I gotta frame (thanks Pearl, for never ever ever having what I need), I have a huge frame I�ve had to custom order a matt (is that how you spell it?) for so long that it�s graduated from temporary, and then there�s always the whole picking up after myself thing, as well as the not wanting to rush a decision thing, which is kinda funny at this point.

But I don�t wanna rush things.

And that�s good. �Cause moving is a long process. Or it should be, I think. You can�t just throw a couch down and then sit on it for the next two years.

It�s not every day that you get to reckon. It�s not every day that you make yourself sort through that toss away stuff pile of shame. It�s not every day that you get to start fresh, to tell your new home I had something going on before, and I don�t see that here. Prove me wrong. Prove me wrong, and I will sweep you.