sometimes i do these stupid things that seem so smart. or at least logical. or at least not thoroughly idiotic. invariably, they are.
for weeks and weeks i begged for boxes. i loved the boxes and used the boxes and now i want nothing more than to be rid of the boxes. because they seem to have multiplied. surely i never had that many boxes. rather, i choose to believe that the vieve is whiling away the nighttime hours weaving cardboard from dust bunnies. because that's logical.
so i have all these boxes and what could possibly make more sense than to pile all these boxes in one big, long stack and carry them down four flights of stairs by myself?
the epic struggle to move the boxes five inches in order to get them out my own back door should have been an indicator, but i'm irish. give up? never.
by the simple grace of God, the boxes and i all made it down the stairs. a random plank of wood fell out of the pile (vieve, you carpenter you) but that was the only blip until the boxes and i reached the back alley.
the longest back alley in the world. at least it is when you've clung to twelve thousand boxes down four flights of stairs sustained by the belief that the four flights of stairs were the hard part.
i stood and stared down that long alley and cursed the boxes and the patches of ice and the move and myself. suddenly, there was silence from the stereo that had been inexplicably blasting a mariah carey christmas carol. then...
the chariots of fire theme song. for real.
there was but one appropriate reaction. i squared my shoulders, clung to those damn boxes with renewed strength, ran down the longest back alley in the world and trashed the whole lot.
boxes? we have none.
well, that's a lie really. boxes, we have some. but only of the petite, well-behaved variety. the riff-raff, they are a'gone.