Week 8: Something that went on in Week 4.

[Ed. Note: i wrote this piece during the first few days when i was staying by my own lonesome self in the new apartment (henceforth known as The Big H for Hereford St) sans internet and tv (yea i know, i had NO TV and NO INTERNET for the first 2 days...that was my state of purgatory right there). anyway, i forgot all about it until i was going through my documents late last night and decided that i will publish it.

i'm warning you in advance though, it is boring. i was just trying to entertain myself.]

So here I am; lips all pursed, one hand on waist and the other balancing a single bed frame, staring down the end of the Daihatsu Mirage boot-space. I have a mission today and that mission is to fit said bed frame in to aforementioned Mirage. It seems impossible and I’m 83% sure that a small part of me believes that it’s impossible but that’s just me being a pessimist and life-long cynic.

After a 15-minute struggle that seemed more like an hour-long battle, I succeed in fitting all 175 centimetres into the boot-space. My mind tells me that what I have just achieved is of epic proportion and I am mentally high-fiving myself and giving me thumping slaps on the back on a job well done. It is no easy feat trying to fit 175 centimetres of something into a space that is just marginally greater in length. I have been there, I have done that and I’m telling you now.

A short 3-minute drive later and I arrive at the intended destination. Knowing that I only have one and a half flight of stairs to climb with the bed frame at the new place as opposed to the 3 flights of stairs I had to endure carrying the bed-frame down to the Mirage at the old gives me some semblance of comfort. I tackled 3 flights of stairs solo; I’ll be damned if I let a puny one and a half flight of stairs get to my psyche now. Off-loading the bed-frame is easier than I thought: I am actually mildly disappointed that it was so simple – given that it took Herculean effort to wrestle the damned thing in, it would only be fitting (and right here, I’m just thinking about its dignity, not mine) that it would take some degree of hard work to get it out. However, it slides out like a newborn baby and I guess I shouldn’t be complaining.

I size up the stairwell and begin my climb upwards. On hindsight, oh how I underestimated you, new stairwell! My pride from my previous conquest got the better of me! As I struggle to maneouver the bed-frame up the first flight of stairs, it clangs against the carpeted stairs and the back-end slams against the security door. I wince but continue my upward battle by positioning myself in front of the frame and half drag half slide the frame upwards. As I round the corner to meet the half flight stairs, I hit the frame against the railing and the most deafening sound of metal meeting metal resounds throughout the stairwell. I cringe, curse and think about the black cat I saw last night whilst crossing Missenden Rd. I knew from that moment on that my task does not come embarrassment-free. I pray that there’s no one in my block today that will hear me.

I finally make it to the front door red-faced, self-conscious and humbled. As I fumble with my keys my neighbour opens her door and greets me with a cheery smile and a ‘Hello, are you moving in today?’ while I mumbled a ‘Yes, I’m just bringing some stuff over gwnerhiwergnaeorgher (mumbling slowly tapers off – I’m tired ok, give me a break)’ to which she promptly replied, ‘Yup, I heard your bed hitting the staircase. It was pretty loud.’

FUCK.