Moving hell and the rise of splinty

Moving is Gods way of reminding you that youre going to die...and that it may be something to look forward to.
First disassemble your entire life, then hide it in identical boxes, too heavy for you yourself to move, and stack them with the hidden contents of three other people's lives, also in same boxes. choose your own adventure moment: live among the boxes and be haunted by anxiety dreams for as long in advance as you choose to prepare, or wait until the last moment and hurriedly shove everything willy nilly wherever it will fit hoping that youll be able to spend time organizing as you "unpack." You choose to be prepared early and sleep poorly for some time. You get a sunburn on set of a microsoft photo shoot, it gives you a cold sore. Then, the time comes. You decide instead of depending on all your friends from seattle (who are pansys and cant lift any more than you can regardless of their size)you will hire russian movers (who will break your stuff and complain about how long it takes even though you're paying them a handsome hourly wage...albeit discounted since they work for the husband of your boss)of inhuman strength and stamina to move all said boxes and furniature into their truck and unload it hurriedly and in no particular order into your new home, which at one time looked spacious and breezy but now looks cramped and claustrophobic. Note how shabby your belongings look against the new paint.
Now your old house is empty! Because you planned ahead and moved a week before the month was over, You have a peaceful week to get all the unwanted things sold or given away and the house clean enough to get your deposit back. But you didnt take into account the mental instability of your rotund, heterochromic Albanian landlord! You return to the vacant apartment, in its messy freshly moved state to reclaim the last of your valuables that you didnt want in the hands of the russians. You find your landlord in his pajamas, maniacally running around your apartment cursing how messy it is, asking you arent you ashamed, there are push pins on the floor? He attacks your boyfriend, telling him he knows hes been living there, hes been taking pictures from the neighbors houses. When your sister and boyfriend go outside to leave, there he is with a videocamera yelling your new address, "I know where you live! You owe me thousands of dollars! I know you have a key, i watch you come in and out! What was your last address, you say you have address! what is?? baby chicken dont cry!!" He always calls your boyfriend baby chicken, thankfully your boyfriend is hard of hearing. He screams that you have to have everything out and return the keys tomorrow!! Everything! And clean! WHAT HAPPENS NEXT???
Ariel and I were the only ones free the day after the move, we went to the house at nine, and you can imagine how much we were looking forward to seeing Albania again. We worked like hebrew slaves, moving mattresses, bedframes, all the clothes that we wanted to sell, a huge ikea wardrobe i moved down the stairs with the help of baby delgado (the adult dependant son of the elderly crotchety puerto rican peolple downstairs.) It was the same impetus that allows a tiny woman to peel a semi off her child. Then we cleaned the whole place, all the while endurning him telling us how messy it is, and how before we lived there you could eat honey off the floor, that we should owe him so much money. He loves to guilt trip you through his wife "Ask my wife, my wife she cry she say apartment was so beautiful and now is filthy." We had to wash the globes on all the chandeleirs and screw them back on. When I electrocuted my hand he said " only 120 volt, i do with four fingers all the time." He made Ariel scrub and power wash the deck. He put so much soap in the water it foamed up for hours. After all that he gave me half of our deposit claiming intermittanly that mahdis lost the deposit when she moved out and that weve been getting a deal on rent so we should consider ourselves lucky to get anything. The fucker hasnt done thing one in that house in seven years. i should sue his backwards racist hunchback ass.

Back to second person: You need a drink, you deserve to celebrate, you have two mojitos at a delicious peruvian restaurant. You come home to see just what kind of shambles your new supposedly better apartment is in. You want to see a few inches of the floor badly, you feel like super man after moving the Ikea wardrobe. You strongarm your sister into helping you put together the HUGE glass and iron coffee table. Youve never touched the glass, you know how heavy it is. You know you can do it. The glass slips out of the frame and crushes the pointer finger of your left hand. You spend the rest of the night (seven hours) crying and sniveling like a child (mainly about the wait, cause the finger doesnt really hurt that much) in the ER waiting for an exray to tell you what you already know, its not broken. but you cant work for a while and you have to wear this stupid splint. Youre finger is a purple pickle the size of two fingers. You hate your life. You wonder why your boyfriend would possibly want to be with a whining miserable, accursed wretch such as yourself. You still dont have a bed, and your kitchen is in boxes. You go to bed hungry, with your finger throbbing. The knowledge that you no longer have disgusting wall to wall carpet is not enough to stop you from missing your nice, lived in room with the air conditioner set up and your clothes in your dresser. You know how much new crap like casters for the couch and beds, padding for all the legs of all the furniature, hangers for the art, new shower curtians, regular curtains, the place will need. Plus the freezer isnt cold enough and only one burner works, the cable has to be hooked up, the previous tenants took all the doors off the hinges, the doorbell is broken and you cant do anything because your finger is destroyed (your boyfriend has taken to calling you Splinty.) Plus you're missing work so all these extra expenses are terrifying, try blowdrying with a splint. Ach. You get a yeast infection. The cable guy drills through the wall without asking, busting a massive hole in the freshly painted lathe and plaster and leaves without a word, you cant get a human on the phone to report it no matter how long you hold. Through all this, people remind you of the importance of seeing the glass as half full.
Moving. Like death but you have to go back to work.