Monday, May 29, 2006

In this corner . . .

we have piles of boxes--about 70% of my books, which were even dusted before they were packed (thank you, J), some kitchen stuff (cookbooks, wine glasses), the bins that were under my bed, and tchochkes. In that corner, we have a pile of winter clothing, bedding, and towels, all of which are waiting for acceptable receptacles, but which have been sorted through. On the chair, we have the items that are destined for the Salvation Army (I'm not a fan of their homophobia, but they pick up, which means one less thing about which I have to worry). If I had some boxes I could do more, but I'm out of boxes, and I can't bring myself to buy something that I should be able to get for free by the end of the week (including bubble wrap!).

This packing reminded me of Memorial Day weekend, 1993. I had applied for a job at the university, a three-year, full-time, but non-tenure-track position that was for people like me, i.e., people who had finished their dissertations but who had not found a position for the next year. I was one of the ten people interviewed by the committee; there were five positions. One Thursday, I found out that I did not get the job--via a secretary leaving a message on my answering machine. I never got any other notice, even though I knew several members of the interviewing committee. (By way of contrast, the chair of the hiring committee at Swarthmore called in person to tell me that they had--by a very narrow margin--chosen someone else for the position for which I had interviewed. He told me what the committee had said, he made it clear that he had supported me, and he made it clear that the committee thought I would make an excellent professor.) The next day, I came to the north side of the city and found a new apartment, after obtaining promises of assistance from my parents (seeing as how I was unemployed).

The following Tuesday, I told the rental office in my university-owned building that I would not be there for the summer--"Oh," they said, "you had to tell us by Friday. So you have to pay the rent for the summer after all." Mind you, I had lived in the building for seven years and had been a model tenant; in addition, my long tenure there meant they had been able to avoid repainting the apartment, etc. "But," they said, "someone is coming next week to find a place to live, and if your place is empty, maybe they'll rent it." I had originally planned to move on June 15, after graduation; I had nine people coming in from out of town for said event. Nevertheless, I changed my moving date to June 1 or something like it and spent Memorial Day weekend packing all of my worldly possessions (which, at the time, didn't include furniture, because I had rented a furnished apartment). The move, and graduation, went off without a hitch, but, of course, no one rented my apartment, and they still made me pay the rent.

And I think last Memorial Day weekend was the wedding shower.

All in all, though, I got at least some stuff done, and I think that, with the boxes, I can do the rest of this pretty easily. There are a couple of Corners of Crap--like my desk, for example--that will take some sorting, and the kitchen will be, as always, tedious beyond belief, but it'll be okay.


Blogger Charlie said...

I am totally feeling your moving pain. Having just completed my own move (and a weekend early at that!) I wouldn't wish it on anybody. Though I must admit, it sure is nice to be in the new place once you're there.

9:14 AM  

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