A Maze of Twisty Turny Stairs, All Alike

Just spent the afternoon helping Lisa move her new sofa (aka my old sofa, aka Stephen’s old sofa) into her small West Village duplex. Everything went pretty smoothly, even after we found the sofa wouldn’t fit into the elevator, mostly thanks to Kevin, a porter who came to help. There was a point when we flowed rapidly up three flights of stairs having got into the right sequence of movements. This exuberance was briefly crushed as we reached the last fire exit before Lisa’s apartment, but after some twisting and turning (and dropping and tilting) the curvey purple bulk got through, accompanied by the yapping of a neighbourly dog. Both sofa and armchair are doing well and their mother is very proud.

On returning to my apartment huge wastes of empty space awaited me. Very emotionally wrenching. It’s not been anywhere near this empty since I first moved in two years ago. On Monday the shippers come to take the remainder of the boxes and furniture, leaving me with a TV (until Sara picks it up), a mattress (to be thrown out due to accumulated stainage – I will miss it though, I’ve had nary a back twinge in the years I’ve had it) and two bags of crap that will come on the plane back next Friday.

This period of my life here is coming gracefully to an end. Some days I want to cry when I think about how much I’ll miss everyone and the life here. Other days I’m so excited about the random wonders that await me around the world. Things are all falling into place though. Synchronicity is flowing, and maybe when it doesn’t flow then that’s for a good reason, I’ve just yet to work out what that is. In retrospect many things become clear. Fuck me, I’m starting to sound like Buddha. Ommm……

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