I have the flu. Last night, I was lying in bed--shivering, feverish, having an obsessive compulsive fit.
My mind kept returning to the loveseat downstairs, the one that reeks of cat urine...it must be removed from my house!
But Josh, you have a fever! You're in no state or position to drag a heavy piece of furniture outside in the middle of the night! It matters not! The thing must go.
So I get dressed and clumsily stumble around the apartment, tossing the cushions on the floor and getting ready to drag the frame outside and down to the dumpster. I maneuver the thing outside, shut the door, and pull it awkwardly towards the stairs.
And then, I lose control. The loveseat, standing up on one end ready to be rolled down the stairs, falls...through the window of the apartment next door!!!
Panic grips me. A fear more thorough than any I've felt in ages. How to explain this? A feverish twenty-something singlehandedly throwing a piece of furniture through a neighbors window at 1:30 in the morning? Oh. My. God.
So, I run. I flee downstairs and hide in terror in an alleyway while angry screams fill the night air "Whose fucking couch is this?" "Who threw this fucking couch through our goddamn window?"
I cower for two hours in the cold and muddy, waiting for the screams to subside and peace to return to the night. Finally, when I think it safe, I return to the warmth and safety of my apartment. It is 3:30-- I am dirty, sweaty, hallucinatory, nauseous. I shower, and drift off into an uneasy sleep. I don't wake up until 3:30 the next afternoon. I feel a little better; I think my fever broke during the night. As I go outside to get the newspaper, I see the neighbors have a new window.
Everything worked out in the end.
Moral: Don't move large pieces of furniture a.) solo, b.) while you have the flu, and c.) at odd hours of the night.
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