The Trials and Tribulations of Moving Robbed Me of Originality

I’ve been absent from this thing for a few reasons. Namely, I have been moving house, which has dominated most of my thinking and time. As such, I have been unable to go through my usual processes to materialize something to write about—mostly staring at someone on the bus until they shift uncomfortably, summoning the muse to settle on my shoulders and whisper, ‘knock it off and concentrate, um, how about something pertaining to the quiet relationship between ducks and lollypops? Or that dude’s neck beard?’ Instead of pondering the inexact relations between the various phenomenon of existence and researching more True Facts, all that has occupied my mind has been the logistics of packing down a house (with all the unhealthy, stressful fun good times that goes with that) and setting up a new flat. And because ‘hating moving’ is a universal feeling amongst humans,[1] although one strangely suspect to a kind of subjective ownership, as if someone can ‘hate’ it more than another person, I feel that writing about ‘hating moving’ is a touch redundant. I would only be going over ground we are all inherently familiar with and would really rather avoid.

            Yet, all that aside, I’m still going to write about it, because, well, I am too lazy to write anything more substantial and because moving became me over the last week despite my futile resistance to its omniscient present. (I am also quite hungover ((advantages of moving: sometimes you move somewhere fun where there are bars and lights and things, and isn’t the bastion of middle-class white Australia)) and such internal damage inhibits my creativity and sense of actually being bothered).

            Thus, I present another list.

Things That Are More Fun Than Moving

1.     Getting kicked by a horse.

2.     Challenging the local mortician to a game of ‘Gross Out.’

3.     Listening to The Vines.

4.     Building a Brimnes.
http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/categories/series/18125/

5.     A paddling.

6.     Reading The Semiotics of Poetry.

7.     Story time with Tony Abbott and Scott Morrison.

8.     Trying to take a lollypop from a duck.

9.     Neck beards.

10.  Having an anime induced seizure.

11.  Listening to possums in your walls at night.

12.  Waiting for someone to put his or her face on.

13.  Drinking turps with a fancy parasol, through a rainbow straw, while being chased by bull called Norman.

14.  Rubbing salt and vinegar chips into open wounds, then being forced to eat them.

15.  Eating boiled cabbage, garnished with boiled cabbage.

16.  Losing your iPhone5 charger.

17.  Treasure hunts where the treasure is nothing special: ie. A slice of durian.

18.  Walking in circles for three hours.

19.  Watching advertisements on FTA television; indeed, watching the telemarketing channel.

20.  Vacuuming a dusty house with a lot of awkwardly heavy and strangely shaped furniture you need to get under and around.

21.  Fighting an oiled cat or weasel-like creature.

22.  Setting up a hammock.

23.  Having something (rock, dirt clump, bobby pin) in your shoe and having no time to take off the shoe to remove whatever is bothering you.

24.  Reading Andrew Bolt and defending his point of view.

25.  Being hungover, even being hungover to the point where it feels like someone is simultaneously shoving a nail into your frontal cortex while they tie you to a chair so you cannot escape Seventh Heaven reruns. And everything smells sort of funny, not like fart, but like the echo of a fart; its memory. And your mouth is a numb cottonbud. And one eye keeps twitching and is really sensitive to things like dim light and the suggestion of dust.

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[1] I assume hermit crabs are ok with moving. Also, I may be generalizing a touch if I am speaking for all of humanity. I’m sure there are some who enjoy moving. Nomads, perhaps?