Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall.

At last post, dear faithful readers, I had walked on my job. If any of you still have any memory comprehension, and can pull out some fleeting flash from over 2 years ago, you might recall that I once stated that I loved my job. And I did. I once stated that I respected my boss as well, and you see how well that went. So with no job, and no prospects, why aren't you posting every day you might ask? Surely there must be endless amounts of unfiltered boredom around my house, no doubt filled with tales of crossword puzzles, job search engines, pastry recipes, rabid squirrels, and cans of paint. Yea I did paint brooding young teen #2's bedroom, but that's it so far. But the only excuse I can come up with is ennui. Lack of ambition. And the move.

Yes the move. It seems brooding young teen #1, soon to become adventurous and wise twenty-something #1, has had enough of life in his 12 x 14 cell that we called his bedroom. He wanted to move out. So we obliged. The young fledgling was ready to spread his wings, and take that first deep plunge out of the nest. Er, sort of. Yes he moved out as I have stated. Of his bedroom. And into the basement. Our all in one workout room, computer room, spare TV room, band room, and whatever else we can cram down there room is gone. I type this vast expose from my new perch on the second floor, next to the wife's spin bike and yoga mat, TV balanced next to my head. It is a little cramped, but we will make it work.

But the move? It all started with the bed. If that went, then all would be right in the world. The mattress made it down the 2 flights of stairs easy enough. And when we got to "the bend" at the bottom of the basement staircase, we were able to cajole it into it's new resting place. But an eerie uneasiness was start to creep into my brain, one that went something like, "but what about the box spring dumb-ass?" Yes the comfy, bendy part of the bed was one thing, but if I know any thing about box springs, I know the "box" part is made of wood, and if I know anything about wood, I know it does not willingly bend.

So there we were, on our holy grail of a Friday night, sitting in frustration at "the bend", me on one side, the wife on the other, and a very unrelenting box spring effectively wedged in the middle apparently for all eternity. It would not make it 'round "the bend". And worse yet, it did not want to go back upstairs. We sweated. We cursed. We laughed and we cried. But the damn thing wasn't going anywhere. So just as frustration was setting in at the possibility of this box spring becoming a permanent part of the staircase, the handy man in me took over. If the bed wouldn't go around the wall, then there was only one logical choice: the wall had to go.

And go it did. Thanks to a bit of chicanery and a little help from the Rockmaster borrowed from my neighbor, the wall came down. Not the whole thing, but just enough to squeeze the bed around it. Only it wasn't enough. So more wall came down. We tried again. It appeared for a millenia minute that removing the wall was a monumental waste of time, and the thing wouldn't go. Once again we sweated and we cursed. We laughed and we cried. We pushed and we twisted. And we almost gave up. But then I took a step back, looked at the impending Jenga puzzle in my basement staircase, and had a moment of inspired vision. It was like suddenly finding the solution to one of those metal bar puzzle thingy's. One little shift to the left and it was down. The wife and I high fived each other and laughed. And breathed a heavy sigh of relief. We may have even chest bumped.

So now the young lad has his crib, sort of. He has a couch and a TV, his bed, a little nook in the corner to set up the drum kit. But more importantly, a little space to call his own. Until that fateful day when he actually does move out of the house. And we do it all over again with the other young-un. I just know I am going to have to buy a sawzall one of these days.