You don’t need a gym if you are moving furniture. Yesterday my father and I bought two well-preserved couches. Both of them stretch into a full-size bed. With this new acquisition, we had to remove two old ones. And you know that old technology, full wood, double layers, metal construction inside, and springs made of heavy alloy. Those things are heavy. The weight is not a big deal. I am used to it. But the problem is getting it off the second floor along the narrow stairs. Now, that’s a challenge and a real mystery. So, I had to carry it at the waist height, lift it above my head, rotate it ninety degrees, circle around the bend, watch my step, and hold it like my life depended on it. And then, we went to acquire the new ones. My doors are ninety centimeters wide, enough for the couches to go through spun sideways, but the guy had his door frames at seventy, while the beds were eighty-two wide with ten centimeters long legs. And we took two of them down from his second floor. If you thought that was it, no, it’s not. Those two new beds had to be carried back to our second floor and placed where our old beds were. Yup, bring down two beds, take them outside, go to the salesman, carry two more down the stairs, and lift them back again to the second floor. The stairs killed me, the rotation, mind games of bending it in the curve, holding it in some weird position. And that took a whole day out of me. I think my arms are like an orangutan, not hairy but stretched and touching the ground from all that carrying around. At least today, I can rest, write the story I just began, and take it easy. I’ll speak more about the story in some other blabbering. For now, this is what’s happening in my life.