February 12, 2014

First night in my house, February 11, 2014. I collapsed before 9:30 in one of the deepest caverns of exhaustion I have ever known. Moving is hideous. I intend never to do it again. Only in bad theater have a prayed so fervently, “please, God, let it be over.” The men sent by Two Men and a Trucks were handsome, personable, very tall, immensely strong, and inexhaustible. I felt foolish collapsed in a chair while they hauled my possessions through the door, but it couldn’t be helped. They talked to each other very little. Perhaps they didn’t like each other much, or perhaps their sympathy was so deep they didn’t need to speak.  They assured me that, compared to most, I have few possessions. “Easy move,” they said, while I held back tears of frustration.

Maud was difficult, and still creeps around the edges of things, finding places to hide. I don’t think she pines for the other house, but is indignant about the manner in which she was captured and hauled in a cage through the winter air.

Evidently the wireless at 62 reaches this far: an unexpected boon. The boys left the front door open all night (and I didn’t come back to check) so the house was freezing. Interesting power bills this month.

Trying to get a feel for the feel of the house. I still stumble around trying to remember where light switches are. My sleep didn’t seem quite restful, but it was a clear seven hours without stirring, so it must have been well. I heard a ghostly voice this morning, I thought, which gave me chills for quite a long time, so intimate and cold and serpentine it was. Then I heard something like it again, and it was my own stomach. Who knows?

Several days of emptying boxes and putting things in place. A great storm is predicted so maybe I have those several days.

Excellent poetry class last night.

I am ready for steady life, wishing the moving in were finished.