Moving sucks. All the lifting and the shifting and the organizing and the disorganization and the disruption and the scheduling and the packing and the unpacking and the connecting and the disconnection and the disorientation and the next-day soreness. For some reason though, I really enjoy helping other people move. There's something about lifting heavy things down difficult stairs with good friends, out into the sunshine of a beautiful day, and then onto the truck that is entirely satisfying. Even more satisfying is stopping at the end of the day for a sunny backyard picnic of pizza and soda, surrounded by about 300 varieties of flower, each competing to see which smells most wonderful.
