i do not like to ask for help. as in, really, ever.
for the most part, this works out quite well, resulting in a handful of stories integral to the Oline Lore. (couch-killing!!!)
but i've come to realize that the longer one lives alone in the city, the more self-reliant one becomes. which, when one is perhaps already a wee bit too self-reliant, may not be such a very good thing.
because when i killed the couches, i had the sense to acknowledge that other alternatives did exist. there was a part of me that sensed the saw was neither the only nor the wisest path. the most fun, exciting, and adventuresome, yes. but obviously not the only way.
but the couches were awhile ago and i'm more deeply entrenched in my ways.
as part of the upcoming, unusually extravagant celebration of my birth, my parents got me a counter-top dishwasher, something i realized i very much needed after serving k.clen a glass of water that appeared to have been drawn from a bubble bath.
i'm pretty sure the counter-top dishwasher is going to be life-changing. that- much like that time i walked through the door with jeff daniels- nothing will ever be the same.
the counter-top dishwasher arrived while i was in nashville. it was a 90 lb box that, in my absence, obstructed the entryway to such an extent that upon my return i could only enter the building by pressing with all my might against the door, gathering my skirts, sucking in and sliding through. (presumably my neighbors- forced to endure a similarly squeezy entry all weekend long- loved me for this.)
so this is the scene i came home to: a 90 lb box and four flights of stairs.
and this is where we see how far i've come since the couch killings. this is where the seachange becomes quite clear.
because not only did it not occur to me to seek help in hauling a 90 lb box up the four flights to my apartment. and not only did it not occur to me that i might not be able to haul a 90 lb box up the four flights to my apartment. but it also did not occur to me to first go up the four flights to my apartment and discard my mail or, for that matter, my luggage.
and so, carrying a suitcase, my comed bill and the latest us weekly, i single-handedly propelled a 90 lb box up four flights of stairs.
an act characterized less by a fleeting sense of empowerment than by a lingering sensation of internal blood loss.