Surely symbolism couldn't get much better than this, with the above in Cancer perfecting yesterday as I unpacked all my cardboard boxes in my new room and hung what few clothes I brought up here in my new and gloriously empty closet.
Dave Myers was scheduled to arrive to tie the mattress to the top of his van at noon, and after spending more than three weeks getting ready for him, I was pretty sure I was safe in going to a friend's house the night before for *relaxation* and setting the alarm for six, which would have left me more than enough time to box up all the things I needed to and do a quick run to Tal Bagels on 86th for one last flat sesame; what I didn't take into account, O astrologer heal thyself, was the true nature of a full moon, so when I finally got up at 8:30 after turning the alarm off twice I *shouldn't* have been surprised to find an email from him saying he'd gotten an early start and would arrive at 10:30.
I still managed to be almost ready when he called at 10:15 - who needs to shower every day anyway? - to say he was across the street (and by that time the woman whose apartment I was going to move into had emailed to give me the exact address), so it then became a matter of throwing everything little I could see that I thought I might want into one last box and retrieving Sweet Pea from under the bed. He'd made himself scarce since the morning before when the wheelie bag first came out and disappeared completely when his carrier appeared at 10 yesterday, but the bed pulls out easily and I've got long arms, and by 11 the black van was heading up a devoid of traffic First Avenue en route to my (yet another) new life.
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