Moving Sucks

2 missed days of the Republican National Convention, 48 hours without sleep, tape, boxes, never ending nick-nacks and tonnes of trinkets.

Moving Sucks

If you haven’t guessed it yet I spent my labour day long weekend dripping sweat, scratching elbows and hauling all my worldly possessions two blocks up the road to my new home @ El Hogar de apuesta arriesgada.

Besides having a quality excuse for missing the first two days of this years Republican National Clambake from the Xcel Energy Center in Saint-Paul, Minnesota, I also had a flashback worthy of nineteen-sixty’s window pain, without the gut rot or inflated cranium.

Sunday afternoons heat was playing with my mind. I hadn’t eaten but wasn’t hungry, hadn’t drank but wasn’t thirsty, hadn’t slept but wasn’t tired. We loaded up the final load and the ladies took up the front seats while myself and my younger brother crammed into the pick-ups backseat. And that when it hit me, head-on, a flashback to my childhood.

My brother and I on a road trip to nowhere, squeeze into the backseat of Mom’s GEO Metro, slap fights, hangman, story time, flashcard, rubber-bands, pinching, arguing, howling, whining and crying. Oh, how far we’ve come.

Today there is no slap fights or elastic bands just two sweaty, tired men......

I reached across the backseat of our moving truck and commenced a purple nurple for the ages.

Grow up! Who me?

Zoltan