"You said you needed a butt-lift," e-snickered Edward, not helpfully.
Yes, I had. But I need a lot of things here in Yancey's fourth-story walk-up apartment, where I sit sick, jet-lagged, and creeping closer to 41 by the minute.
I need more energy, so that trudging up and down the stairs with armfuls of wooden masks from Papua New Guinea and inlaid backgammon sets from Syria doesn't hurt so bad. I need more hours in the day, to finish my freelance assignments as well as my day job. I need a tall, strong person in my life, so that I don't have to hassle Michael Kraiger every time a box of guidebooks needs moving. I need to be stronger and more active myself, so that I can tell both Person X and Kraiger that I can carry my own boxes. I need to get off my butt more often. I need to figure out something somewhat interesting to do on my birthday, the 22nd. I need to think of something to talk about when I'm interviewed at Bluestockings bookstore a week from yesterday.
Mostly, I think I need to find a good website for inexpensive-yet-tasteful furniture, so that I can just throw away everything in my storage unit, and get all new furniture delivered.
Up with two boxes. Down empty-handed. Up with a lamp, two file boxes, and a lampshade on my head. Lampshade falls off, leading to a half-trip a minute later. Down empty-handed. Up with a printer and a scanner. Down empty-handed.
I woke up this morning with a sore throat, which evolved into a hack (tasting of blood) later in the day. Is it traveling, perhaps exacerbated by chilly, rainy April? Maybe. I am going to have to stop moving boxes and get some rest, and catch up on work. The boxes will wait. They won't mind.
The butt-lift can wait too. At least until I crave the next pumpkin-flavored coffee from BASIC, the cafe at the end of the block.