the worst thing about moving is . . .
the bone deep exhaustion you feel
as you carry the last box into the apartment
knowing your day is just beginning. You unpack your clothes wondering
why you didn’t label the linens better
because all you really want to do is go
to sleep, but you have no sheets and no real hope of finding them before you’ve
unpacked all three boxes of jeans and underwear.
You finally find your bedding and your pajamas
and under them, the towels, but
even though you have a sudden craving for hot water
finding where you packed the soap involves at least two more boxes.
When you finally find it
the soap makes your arms sting where they are
scratched and nicked with unremembered
contacts with packing. You have a huge bruise on your left index finger
that you hit sometime, somewhere, and you realize
just how often you jar your hand
because it sends shivers of pain
whenever you're careless.
And then you get out of the shower
and are finally ready to get into bed
and you realize that you’re still exhausted, but
your mind’s awake and you won’t be able to sleep for at least another hour.
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