One Day in the Life of a Miserable Labourer

(Please excuse the probably excessive frivolity of the following entry; I think it is somewhat redeemed by the fact that it may be a coping mechanism or it may be the result of high caffeine and sugar intake.)

Today was the glorious last full day where we could load stuff into the container, which had already been filling for two days beforehand. I woke up after highly insufficient sleep due to sleeping on the sofa (in lieu of my bedclothes-less bed) under a chilly synthetic blanket and to the unwanted attentions of a mosquito (which, however, did not bite me).

It turns out that every minute I was awake was of use. I had to sort through hundreds of papers, dismantle my bed (Mama did most of the work on that), pack up clothing and papers and books and electronics (including a very dusty and insect-corpsy monitor-computer-printer ensemble), dispose of chains of berries and mosses that seemed delightful up to the moment that they were in the way,* and pack up earthenware for the common good. I received at least three paper cuts, and there is still coagulated blood decorating one fingernail.

I was in pyjamas until an aunt and uncle came for a pleasant, relaxed visit, at which point I saw that any decent person would get into proper clothing and trot forth to welcome the visitors. I also took several other breaks, involving a certain fizzy brown drink and most refreshing popsicles and a fan. It was very hot today, hence the overwhelming need for coolness. At present my hair has become curly, I sense dried perspiration all over me (including a cool dampness at the back of my neck), and my back hurts a little. This may be too much information for the reader, but the trials of moving should not be whitewashed.

I also ventured into our toolshed in search of snowchains and a snow-plowing blade for a tractor. I discovered the snowchains but the blade, if not left behind in Kelowna by my grandfather, would have been under a pile of rat-nibbled canvas and mysterious items enshrouded in black garbage bags, to the right of a freezer. This freezer is topped by an intriguing landscape of dust with highlights in mouse droppings. Since neither strength, space, nor trust in my immune system sufficed, I decided to discontinue the search.

When it began to become dark I panicked and really hurried. Five years ago I had unfortunately decided to print out the news of the day, every day, particularly as it pertains to the Middle East. The result is a huge binder overflowing with news articles in ten-point type, which I sped through with considerable anxiety. At the same time the pressure was really beginning to get to me. When it began to be hinted that the 40-ft. container with an extra high ceiling was verging on the bulging with plenitude, I simply had enough. Unfortunately this hint was broadened by dint of at least ten repetitions, and when I attended the second-last carload of possessions to the container I was provided the discouraging "ocular proof" I hadn't needed.

Mama and Papa are also under a lot of pressure, part of which transfers to me. But at present I feel sorry mostly for myself. It was the same way when my sister was disgruntledly washing the dishes and quite harshly put me in my place when I wanted to show her something. I admit that both parents look pretty miserable, but since I achieved the feat of being close to tears, which I considerately choked down (which heroic action I am now undermining by my prattle about it), I am still overwhelmed by the sense that no one was as miserable as I am. But Papa must deal with the logistics of putting a box into a space that is at least five cm too small for it, so in all seriousness I think I mustn't be selfish any longer.

* The pragmatic view of my mother is that they are mere dust-collectors, hence a careful but firm entreaty that I wouldn't take the things along to Germany.
(I hope I have used the word "pragmatic" properly.)