As a man thinketh in his heart so is he

Melancholy day--weekend, really. I packed until I could pack no more. I'm moving, you see, though I don't have a place to move to yet. A story in itself; a post for another day. For now, just the packing. There are a dozen boxes in the dining room. Another 15 in the living room. Probably 25 or 30 in the larger bedroom. A handful in the basement. I feel like I've been working nonstop for a month; every time I move, something creaks in my back or shoulders or neck. Or jaw. I think that I regularly fall asleep sitting up, which makes my short commute a particular blessing.

The melancholy part comes in where I realize that I'm moving again, by myself. I never wanted to do that again. There's an obvious practical reason: were I in a relationship at this point, I could likely rely upon my significant other to handle the back-straining, neck-crackling aspects of this process. There is also a milder, more esoteric reason: I'm just sick of being alone. It's not a great excuse to be with someone else (in fact, I can barely think of a worse rationale!) but that doesn't make me miss any less sharply the sensation of being involved. It sucks to be solely responsible for...everything. And to have to ask the same people a hundred favors, over and over, in order to get myself moved. I really didn't think I'd have ended up this way.

It probably doesn't help that I've been listening to a mix CD with this song on it, and it's run through my head for two days.
You said I should let go of your hand
But I don't even know if I can
You're the only one, you are the very sun to me
And you know it's not easy


[the title quotation is by Dean Inge, and reads in its entirety: "The right use of leisure is no doubt a harder problem than the right use of our working hours. The soul is dyed the color of its leisure thoughts. As a man thinketh in his heart so is he."]