I wasnít the one who moved today. And I wasnít the one who did most of the work. So why am I the most tired and sore, and why does my house look more cluttered than Momís new apartment? If you looked at me and at my place, youíd swear that I just moved in and that I didnít have any help.
We started early this morning at Momís old place and finished early this evening at the new place. Because John had the big trailer, we did it all in one huge load, but it took eighty-nine trips up nine floors in the service elevator at the complex to stuff all of her stuff into a much smaller space than it had previously occupied. Then there was unpacking and putting away and disposal of boxes (recyclable, of course).
In between, we brought two footlockers, two bookcases and a refrigerator from her old house to my house. Trust me when I say that I did very little of the actual physical work involved in all this. I carried a few boxes and Momís pillows. I did set up her computer and connect her VCR and TV to the cable outlet. I might have done a few other chores that Iíve forgotten, but my primary memory of the day was sitting.
In fact, for a while this afternoon it was all I could do to sit without moaning and writhing. My legs and hips were so sore they wouldnít respond to neural commands in the manner Iíve become accustomed to. I told them to move a little faster and they said, ďHuh! Who do you think youíre dealing with? Do you know how old we are?Ē Then they reminded me that theyíd spent several hours yesterday walking me around the zoo.
All of that soreness was nothing compared to the absolute pain in my right hand and wrist. I donít know how it started, but it got worse and worse as the day went on. At times it felt as if something inside my arm was on fire. Or as if something was pulling me apart. Iíve had pain in that hand before, but itís never been this bad.
And the sitting made me feel guilty. I wasnít doing my part, and others had to pick up the slack. I sat while Suzanne put away everything in Momís new kitchen. I sat while my mother was still sorting through things in her new bedroom. Usually Iíll try to pitch in even if Iím not feeling up to it, but this time I just couldnít manage it. And Iím still sore tonight. Itís costing me quite a lot to write this pitiful journal entry.