My dear anonymous and accidental reader, let me tell you one thing: if you ever thought that the worst hazard you could possibly face for your personal safety was either the avian flu or an Iran with Nuclear weapons and a leader as Ahmadinejad, well, you were close, but no goldfish. In fact, while at least the latter is possibly the worst thing the world could have nightmares about, it's true that on a personal level moving can be much worse.
And in fact, after the last 3 days, I can tell you that moving is bad for your health on so many ways you would be surprised:
- on a physical level, for instance, moving boxes of books each weighting an average of 30 kgs is bad for your back and shoulders, the occasional fall of material (one right on my face) is bad for your skin and bones, the clouds of dusts raised are a permanent hazard for your lungs and eyes and a enraged parent or brother at the fall of a given, precious, object is dangerous all around for your life
- on a psychological level, the distress caused by the wails of your mom for one of the boxes containing the "good" table-service having been crushed (despite the countless "fragile" labels carefully placed everywhere) with the consequence of a good half dozen of shattered crystal glasses is equal to the one produced by realizing that at least two of your own books boxes never made it to the house and are therefore displaced together with their precious (ok, relatively precious, but for you it is!) content. Both can cause permanent mental damages.
That said, the moving is going along with its incidents and victims (just bruises and scratches, tho, nothing too bad) but should be completed tomorrow. When the house will look again as a house rather than a baggage depot of a train station right after a massive bombing, that's a whole different story altogether. For now, no phone and, worse, internet and no way to know when, if ever, we'll have it again. I'm not sure who's more annoyed about it, if myself or Susanne.
Anyway, friday I managed, even if exhausted beyond any biological level, to get to the VCN Happy Hour and I must say the place was indeed very nice and, despite a transports strike that probably forced quite a few people at home, there were quite a few people and new faces as well. It is quite possible that next sunday a barbecue will be organized, while I've been invited to play basketball on sundays, which I am inclined to accept, even if it's years I do not play (not to mention my not exalting height, obviously).
Saturday was a full moving day and crumbling to bed early out of exhaustion, while sunday was closed with a japanese dinner with Liesbeth followed by the odd cocktail at Campo dei Fiori.
And a new week starts, and more boxes will be moved and re-opened, dust raised and so on and so forth...
And in fact, after the last 3 days, I can tell you that moving is bad for your health on so many ways you would be surprised:
- on a physical level, for instance, moving boxes of books each weighting an average of 30 kgs is bad for your back and shoulders, the occasional fall of material (one right on my face) is bad for your skin and bones, the clouds of dusts raised are a permanent hazard for your lungs and eyes and a enraged parent or brother at the fall of a given, precious, object is dangerous all around for your life
- on a psychological level, the distress caused by the wails of your mom for one of the boxes containing the "good" table-service having been crushed (despite the countless "fragile" labels carefully placed everywhere) with the consequence of a good half dozen of shattered crystal glasses is equal to the one produced by realizing that at least two of your own books boxes never made it to the house and are therefore displaced together with their precious (ok, relatively precious, but for you it is!) content. Both can cause permanent mental damages.
That said, the moving is going along with its incidents and victims (just bruises and scratches, tho, nothing too bad) but should be completed tomorrow. When the house will look again as a house rather than a baggage depot of a train station right after a massive bombing, that's a whole different story altogether. For now, no phone and, worse, internet and no way to know when, if ever, we'll have it again. I'm not sure who's more annoyed about it, if myself or Susanne.
Anyway, friday I managed, even if exhausted beyond any biological level, to get to the VCN Happy Hour and I must say the place was indeed very nice and, despite a transports strike that probably forced quite a few people at home, there were quite a few people and new faces as well. It is quite possible that next sunday a barbecue will be organized, while I've been invited to play basketball on sundays, which I am inclined to accept, even if it's years I do not play (not to mention my not exalting height, obviously).
Saturday was a full moving day and crumbling to bed early out of exhaustion, while sunday was closed with a japanese dinner with Liesbeth followed by the odd cocktail at Campo dei Fiori.
And a new week starts, and more boxes will be moved and re-opened, dust raised and so on and so forth...
No comments:
Post a Comment