Pandemic nights are restless nights. My brain whirrs at 2 a.m., useless, clunky, clogged with lint and hairballs. My phone tells me terribleness in day mode, too bright on the lowest setting. But not this weekend. Because this weekend, my boyfriend and his two roommates moved. This weekend, the five of us (boyfriend, roommate, roommate, roommate’s girlfriend, me) moved a three bedroom apartment by ourselves. We hoisted couches, bed frames, mattresses, end tables, chairs, plates, bowls, mugs from Medieval Times, video game consoles, dirty clothes, clean clothes, rugs, record players, guitars, cords, vitamins, half-empty lotions “for men,” a ceramic pumpkin, unspoiled food, and novelty bobbleheads into a 20-foot-long U-Haul.
We then drove that U-Haul and unloaded those couches, bed frames, mattresses, end tables, chairs, plates, bowls, mugs from Medieval Times, video game consoles, dirty clothes, clean clothes, rugs, record players, guitars, cords, vitamins, half-empty lotions “for men,” a ceramic pumpkin, unspoiled food, and novelty bobbleheads into their new three-story home.
When my head hit my pillow, I did not think one thought. My brain was as empty and clean and sealed as new tupperware. I fell asleep easily, into oblivion.