what our apartment does when we're not around does not concern us

When I got home this afternoon, I discovered that the organization elves had been at work. There was a new makeshift table set up in one corner of our living room--covered with one of what used to be drapes, it looks very fetching. This meant that our single dining chair, which had been serving as my nightstand, now serves as a place to sit. And possibly dine. At least, when the stability issues have been worked out.
The weight bench had migrated to the quasi-hallway in our bedroom (if you haven't seen it already, don't ask--it won't make any sense even if I try to explain), freeing up some space in the actual hallway, where we had been talking about putting in some shelves.
All of our arranging and rearranging is an attempt to make more rooms in our apartment instead of moving somewhere with more space. More space usually equals more money, and I can't face the thought of giving up our enormous south- and west-facing windows, much less the thought of disassembling our ten thousand pound Ikea storage unit.
The shifting of objects uncovered two enormous bags of giveaway clothes that somehow never made it to the given away stage. Not to be outdone, I took a spin through my current wardrobe, discarding items with a terrifying lack of care. Then I decided that I'd have to take the bags to the donation box down the street.
Now, when I say "down the street," I mean literally--it's maybe two short blocks, across the major street, in front of the No Frills and from there your biggest problem is wrestling with the drop box door, which is like the testiest mailbox in history. It's close enough that someone, say, me, might feel like a bit of a wimp if they weren't able to carry two bags of clothes all the way there. Did I mention they were really big bags? And that the handle of one of them popped as soon as I picked it up to carry it to my front door? Pshaw. I am the same macho asshole who decided to wrestle our eight-and-a-half foot Christmas tree out to the curb by myself. This little errand was nothing. All I needed was a plan. Unfortunately, I thought of one. We don't have a wagon or a bundle buggy, but spook has a skateboard. I dug it out from behind the tv and set one of the bags on it, rolled it experimentally. Yep. Works pretty good. That established, I stuck it under my arm and wrangled the skateboard and maybe forty pounds of clothing down the three flights of stairs in my building.
The skateboard rolled pretty well on the sidewalk, except in the few places where there was a buildup of slush. At those times--there were three of them--I had to heft the bags and kind of kick the board along. Rolling is easier than carrying--except that I couldn't stand up straight while doing it. I started to get a crick in my back, and to notice that the skateboard steers like a cow. Are you picturing me, crouched over my bags, executing a kind of shuffling crabwalk while trying to keep up any momentum I can get going and also nudging the skateboard for direction with the toe of my boot? Good. Now picture me having to stop while this couple and their two dogs--one a pug, one some other, floppier, small breed, both in sweaters--walk up and past me. The dogs want to sniff me. I'm so grateful that they're not laughing at me that I'm willing to forgive the little pink sash on the girl dog's sweater. The pug, bless its wheezy, insectile little face, heads for me with an enthusiasm he's not showing for any of the rest of this "walk" experience. I smile awkwardly and wait for them to pass.
The real problem with this jaunt is that it's not something you can abandon halfway when you decide it isn't working. I got the bags all the way up to the corner, and then I thought about trying to cross the busy street, with the salt and the car-slush, and the curbs. Uh, no. I took a deep breath, said a quick prayer to the gods of concealment, and stashed spook's skateboard under an abandoned Christmas tree by the side of the Catholic church. Then I grabbed my bags and waddled over to the dropoff.
On my way home, skateboard tucked safely under my arm, I passed the dog people again. I tried to appear nonchalant, as though this was something I do every day. Ever notice how the times you're trying hardest to look cool are the times it's the most pointless?
Next time, I will consider simply burning all of my possessions.