I'm in the midst of moving.  All the huge stuff is out of the house already.  Yet much little stuff remains to be moved or trashed.  And then there's the massive cleanup. 

Going west, my move takes me clear around the world.  Going east, my move takes me 20 feet to the house next door.  Yes, I am in the process of becoming my own next-door neighbor.  Jesus did say "Love thy neighbor as thyself...", didn't he?  I suppose I've joined the Church of Literality.

Though sore from today's blitzkrieg of heavy lifting, I've just decided to take some time off to run this evening.  Oh yeah, going to be sorer afterwards, for sure.  But it's going to be that alive-kinda soreness that will subsequently feel so-o-o good.  The kind where every ensuing move brings an expression of half-painful grimace and half smile to one’s face.  The kind where you're feeling so battered that, as you finally fall into the sack at the end of the night, you're already fast asleep before your head hits the pillow.

It’s the pain of posing as much too alive, yet the pleasure of being reassuringly far from dead.