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Monday, May 20, 2013

Post Traumatic Moving Disorder




My brother foolishly (the foolish part will become clear in a minute) started a piano moving business with his friend, while they were in college. And by moving business I mean figuring out the physics required for two guys to move very heavy but easily damaged pianos in and out of spaces where very heavy but easily damaged pianos should not be moved into or out of.

 


Because he has mad skills, he has been pivotal in I don’t know how many big moves. And by pivotal I mean lots of heavy lifting, use of his trailer and the ability to pack an enormous amount of stuff into a very small space.

 

For this move I’m paying for help. And by help I mean paying my fantastic neighbor any amount she asks for to orchestrate the move, including out-sourcing the lifting.


 
On the day of the move, as is my nature, I will be helping by taking valium and staying in a hotel.

 
I will interject that paying for the move and paying for a housekeeper has absolutely been the best money I’ve ever parted with.



Being the type of guy he is, my brother and my sister-in-law, trailer in tow, plan to be there to help.  So I asked, “By now, don’t you have Post Moving Stress Disorder?”  His response, “I am in the final stage of grief; acceptance.”    


 
I on the other hand, am in the first stage of grief; denial.

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