Like a Phoenix From the Digital Ashes

Queue the streamers and pop the champagne, our long national nightmare is over, I'm back.

Okay, it's not a Pickleversary, but no less a celebration!

For those curious, I’ve been moving, one of the tasks of Hercules I believe. It was, “chop the head off Medusa, then carefully wrap it in bubble wrap and try to fit it into a box with loose marbles and fine china, pack it into the back of a rental truck that’s thirty years old and runs on will power and the tears of impoverished immigrant children.” That was one of his tasks, right? I did get my Masters in Ancient Theology from Steve’s Online University and Pharmacy, but even my breadth of knowledge has its limits.

Aside: Did you see how many JPS’s that was? (Jokes Per Sentence) I’ve been out of the blogging game for too long that I’m bursting with the hilarity-denseness of a thousand clown cars imploding at once.

For those of you who have moved recently, you will understand when I say that the process of moving has granted me the ability to see into the past and understand why humans are no longer a nomadic people.

Yep, it's a Sabertoothed Bunny.

Back when we dressed in the pelts of Sabertoothed Bunnies (they were mean little buggers, but so fluffy and cuuuuute) I imagine our ancestors—let’s call them Grog and Mog—were facing the reality of possibly dragging their unkempt children across the wild tundra of a post-Ice Age landscape when they realized, “Whoa, what if—and hear me out here—what if we am stay in this cave, maybe build a mud guest hut for your mother, and plant garden to start civilization—whatever that am being—and we am stay here?” And then they rejoiced because they didn’t have to move.

Look at moving through the ages. It always sucked. The life expectancy of people used to be something like 30 years old, not because of medicine and whatnot, but because they were always “exploring”. Magellan was about 18 when he died because he wouldn’t setting down. The Donner Party hated moving so much that half way through they stopped and said, “I’d rather eat everyone here than lug our crap another foot!” And boy did they have follow-through.

You know who doesn’t live to over 100 years old? Truck drivers. Yeah, it might have something to do with the fistfuls of Quaaludes and Greenies they ingest nightly, or the persistent diet of Slim Jims, Mountain Dew and glory holes. But it’s more likely their vagabond/itinerant lifestyle.

Or it could be that fast food makes you go clown-nuts. Just a hypothesis. Source

What I’m saying is that if you have to move, save your money to pay some movers. Sure, you’re facilitating the shortening of their lives, but at the benefit of extending your own! It doesn’t matter if you have to take a second job and springboard armstand into financially debilitating debt, it’s worth it. You can pay back debt, you can’t retrieve the years of life stripped from you by the needless stress.

Oh, wait, I have another moving tip: Statistically, things are going to break. So, why not beat the statistics and while you’re packing, break something, just smash a flower vase or a glass or a picture of yourself you’ve always secretly hated, something just to get the statistical probability out of the way. It’ll help you relieve some stress too.

It feels nearly euphoric to be back to blogging. It really does. Should I feel bad about that? (Rhetorical question)