Countdown to the wedding cont’d… Day 3
AM: First Saturday waking up in the new place. The loneliness is almost a second person. We got a California King Size bed. I sleep on it like it’s a single– on the edge like my body is a plank. Lower back is making a comeback. I’m already mapping out the creaky floor boards for when I come home late to my wife. Drank a whole pot of coffee. Not sharing an entire pot of coffee is what I imagine it feels like owning a coffee shop. This is how lonely, rich guys live.
PM: Home late. 7,642 packages for us in the lobby (actually 5) that I have to carry up by myself. My existence is opening boxes then breaking them down. There are boxes that come inside of other boxes like an Amazon Prime Russian Doll. I don’t remember a life in which I wasn’t constantly opening, unpacking, breaking down, folding, carrying cardboard boxes. Ran into the super in the elevator and asked how he was doing and his response was, “long day, so tired from moving all the stacks of cardboard boxes, going to have some wine.” LOUD AND CLEAR MAN I’M SORRY. Contemplating just keeping the remaining cardboard boxes in the apartment and taking them out one a day over the course of a week because I feel guilty. The whistling from the radiator is inviting me to buy an ax. Need to conquer the radiator before fiance moves in.