I like moving. Whether its moving from point A to point B or moving from an apartment. I’ve helped my girl and our friend (her ex-neighbour) to move from one flat to another today.
At a certain point, I found myself sitting at the front seat of a car, carrying an oversized version of a wall clock, which would be more appropriate at a railway station, than on a young woman’s bedroom wall. Ironically enough, apart from having an enormously-sized clock on my hands, I didn’t have enough time on them. As if to remind myself once again that time doesn’t exist, but clocks do.
I like moving. While in the process, you feel that utter lack of seriousness you were so anticipating. Everything, except the idea of getting from one place to another, seems pointless. The chain of lamp posts seems like an eternal grandma’s necklace which who-knows-when was so unattainably lying on that sky-high dresser from your childhood.
You start to value the idea of moving even more, when you stop. Stop at a deserted gas station, light up that last-of-the-day cigarette, take a drag and finally understand that “/mission/vision/values/” are the three motherfucking whales on which all of those business concepts are based.
Let’s get going.