the move

I just got back from my infiniteth run down the street with another RAV4 load of stuff for the new place. I've been making these runs every night after work since Monday, part of the reason you readers never got a good Poland Report out of me. Something about moving is so endless, with the feeling that there's just a little more to do persisting for days, and reinforcing itself with every new cabinet opened. The last 5% of items seem to take 95% of the time. When the place is finally empty (which ours is far from as I write) it is nothing short of miraculous. And unfortunately, there is no Iceland magic I can bring to bear on the situation. It appears that the normal laws of moving physics apply here: everything's gotta be boxed and not enough can ever be said about the importance of having an ungodly amount of wrapping paper.

Fortunately, we've got some good droogs coming to help us with the big stuff tomorrow. There are 2-3 guys who I work with stopping by, and even the upstairs neighbor is chipping in. People seem to be very enthusiastic to help move here. And my truck-driving connection is fully armed and operational, ready to swoop in and pick up the furniture in exchange for a little undir-borðið action. A couple six-packs of fríhöfn beer are right now chilling on the new balcony in tonight's freezing air. Hopefully the white-albatross sofa doesn't suffer from some Douglas Adams-style removal syndrome, and everything goes swimmingly. The sweeping ocean/mountain/lighthouse view awaits and will make all the box-lugging tedium worthwhile.