A Moving Experience: 12 Days. Moving is a terminal disease
The patient is dying. The evidence is clear all around. Rags to clean the wounds are scattered everywhere, but no stopping the flow. No point in thinking about saving the life of this apartment; all I can do now is ease it into a relatively painless death. So this morning when my eyes flew open at 5 am, I decided that the only way to alleviate its agony would be to hire an agenzia di sgombero (removal company). You have to pay them to remove your stuff, which they then might transport to the city dump, but might also recycle and sell for an attractive profit. I had resisted calling them because their MO feels like a complete scam. But once riga mortis has set in at our home, removal of piles of stuff as well as furniture will be too daunting for my husband and myself. He is not as strong as he used to be, I have a bad leg, and we don’t have a truck.
So I put out a request online and was suddenly barraged by calls. These folks seem much more eager to do business than the moving and storage companies. But I didn’t have time to follow up on their many insistent calls because all hell was breaking loose elsewhere. The patient was going into cardiac arrest, you might say.
The moving company called. The 22 pages I had sent yesterday are not legible so could I please scan and fax them? Actually I can’t. Our scanner-fax…
