Moving so hard I think I made irony happen.

Multi platinum musician, man breasted Fight Club actor and front runner for 2016s worst album of the year guy ‘Meat Loaf’ once said ‘If you’ve got enough left in the tank for the after party then you haven’t gone hard enough on stage.’
Which is a pretty damn good life mantra if you ask me. Don’t go asking anyone else about it though because I honestly can’t be certain if I really heard him say it on a morning show interview or if I was having a low blood sugar hallucination due to not eating for a while when I was younger. 

But shit, sure sounds good don’t it?

Well I’m here to tell you that the exact same thing goes for moving house. But it’s slightly different in that you replace being ‘On stage’ with ‘Moving house’ and replace ‘After party’ with ‘Writing a blog post about your experience moving house.’
I’m also here to tell you that today I lived up to Meat Loafs’ mantra of putting so much into the task at hand that I don’t have anything left to celebrate. (Remember how celebrate meant writing a blog post about my day?)

So I’m going to celebrate the old fashioned way. The way my ancestors celebrated. A time honoured tradition.

I’m celebrating with alcohol.

And it is sad.
Not because I’m celebrating with alcohol, jesus no, celebrating with alcohol fucking rocks. Sterling Archer is my spirit animal in that sense. If I had the funds and capacity to function responsibly while soused I’d be a Bukowski grade writer.
Not his calibre as far as literary genius and innovation, just that I’d be drunk in bed a lot

A LOT.

But toddlers don’t look after themselves.

It’s sad because we’ve fucking moved every damn thing to the new house and due to certain circumstances we’re at the old place for tonight.
Well, we haven’t moved EVERY damn thing. But we did move all the good liquor. With the exception of a few very special bottles of red.

Look at the picture above. And let me set the scene behind the camera.
I’m sitting on the floor. My electronic writing implement is propped up on one of ‘those’ tables from the kids table and chair set that every single toddler owns, the one that just suddenly appears in the house at the age of about 12-14 months give or take.
Sitting next to the tablet is a mason jar with a handle containing THE cheapest vodka available this side of a gulag lunchroom. I mixed it with soda to make it fun. Then sugar to make it less depressing.

The rest of the scene paints itself. Passed out wif, asshole cat thinking this whole thing is a huge fucking parkour ground and shit just generally everywhere.

But do you know what Meat Loaf DIDN’T convey about moving house?

How you can put an entire days hard work into moving, to the point that you can’t party by writing at the end of it due to exhaustion and in spite of all that, there’s still shit tons of fucking boxes rolling around the house like indoor suburban tumbleweeds and the only booze in the house is cheap vodka!

I swear to god that’s the last fucking time I take moving advice from a musician.

Maybe I got the point wrong.

Maybe I got the quote wrong.

Holy shit, what’s actually real in the world!

The answer is vodka. Vodka is always real.

Sorry I wasted your time again.

Jacob

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