So I've been hoping that getting back into my more mobile routine this year would return me to that smaller waist size, but no such luck. Maybe if I pick up a harder workout routine in the next year that might happen, but it isn't doing so under the light routine I have currently. So I've finally been wading through all my clothes, sorting out things that I can donate to Goodwill or the St. Vincent de Paul Society, which I've never really done before. I'm kind of amazed at how much I had in the back of my closet that no longer fit and that I hadn't been wearing: enough for a pair of full garbage bags, most of which is in good condition.
The most striking of that material, though, came from a container I hadn't opened the whole time I've been in this apartment that I call "The Ledge" here in the Ardmore building. These were "historical" pieces of clothes, some of which I had been wondering about off and on, as I'd not seen them for a while, figuring that they were tucked away like this. An All-State Choir t-shirt from my senior year in high school. My C-2 Honors Floor sweatshirt from my sophomore year in college. An Indiana Jones Stunt Spectacular t-shirt that Jenny had bought me when she was on spring break in Orlando. LOMC staff shirts. A sweater that Jen had bought for me in the Dominican Republic. A Harley t-shirt from the 60th Sturgis Rally from Kevin's and my 2000 Road Trip. All these and more, definitely keepers, even if some of them can no longer be worn. Things like this, you make room for: they're the archaeology of your own life. (Although I think I might give a cardigan from my Grandfather to my brother, as I wear a sweater vest I inherited from him much more regularly.)
Making my moving arrangements has been more of an adventure than I hoped for. The estimate from the corporate moving company for which I get a Marquette Alumnus discount turned out to be far more than I hoped, even with the dollar amount of the moving expenses that Loyola University will pick up. I had approximately 8218 pounds of possessions to my name, at least three-quarters of which seemed to be my books. Three or three-and-a-half tons of books. All that weight drove the price up considerably. But then, crunching the numbers with Dan, I discovered that with the discount factored in, it saved me more than I had guessed, and turned out to be far and away the most sensible deal, especially when you realized they not only loaded, moved, and unloaded the stuff, but packed and </i>unpacked</i> it as well. Bliss! But then yesterday I discovered that the estimate I had been given already included most of the discount. Frak. So that was no good. So then I started going back to the numbers I had run through for a self-move with Dan. There is one possibility, though, that I may still yet use the moving company: if I put the bulk of the library in storage for this year, I may actually get a full move for the rest of my stuff that would be much more modest, and fit largely in the school funds being given to me for the move. More on this story as it develops.
All that gave me more anxiety than I need, as I seem to have to pay all these charges in order to set up for the new job, just before I actually start getting paid. It seems all backwards, somehow, and is more than frustrating, to have all these hurdles appear, just as I'm about to step across the finish line. If there was such a thing as a 24-hour ulcer, I would have churned one up in my stomach yesterday, thinking and re-thinking all this. I hit Caffrey's Pub last night, after finishing up the miniscule amount of theological work on my Odes of Solomon article that I could actually squeeze in. Good talk helped take off the edge more than a drink could: it'll be hard saying my first good-bye to Bob tonight when our festivities at the Lloyds' come to a close.