Moving

I usually consider myself to be in pretty good shape...that is, until I have to do something physically challenging or exhausting, then I verbalize what a complete and total wuss I am.

I helped a friend move this past Saturday from one apartment to another, and the first apartment just happened to be on the third, that's right, the third floor. Looking back, I wish I had counted the stairs just to see how many steps I took during this phsyically demanding feat, but then again that would show my obsessive compulsiveness, and I'd hate to do that. :)

For those of you that know me, know that I am without a doubt an organizational fanatic. So you realize my delight in not only helping someone move, but helping them PACK too!! I love packing. I love moving. It brings this incredibly dorky characteristic out in me that only my closest friends get to see. I don't admit to being that dorky to just anyone.

I was in charge of the kitchen. Once we got some jamming music going, I knocked that kitchen out in no time (okay so it took a little longer than it should because I almost let my organization get the best of me when I started to organize the stuff IN the boxes instead of just packing them).

A 32 ounce Pepsi, a Whatchamacallit, 100 upbeat songs, a lot of laughter and a little sweat later, we made good progress. It wasn't until we started wrapping things up around midnight that it hit me how tired my body really was. I knew that my legs would be kicking my butt in the morning. And they did.

I'd do it all again, not just because I am that much of an organizational freak, but because I like helping my friends out. So, here's to helping friends, even if it means having sore muscles for three days. :) ha ha