Unpacking gets deep

Another evening of unpacking. Hauled some boxes downstairs, a long, dark, steep, narrow, slippery, knuckle-skinning trip for each one. Opened some boxes down there in storage, and discovered that the movers in Florida threw every damn thing in. I can't believe they didn't ask me before they packed for a 5000-mile move:

• 12 rolls of paper towels.
• 12 1/2-liter bottles of spring water
• a large box of wrapping paper. Nothing else--just paper.
• a six-pack of Diet Coke

...and on and on. Oh well, as a percentage of the weight sent, it's not much, but since my new company was charged by the kilo...I don't want to think what the paper towels and water cost. There are six more boxes to open. I wonder what novelties I'll find in there.

Came upstairs tired and satisfied. Poured the (very old) sodas down the drain. A lot of good that did. The second floor ceiling was glowing red, so I pulled a Heineken from the tiny fridge and went to the top window to watch the sun set from on high. Time for lots of thoughts. For example:

It is good to be tired and to climb stairs and to anticipate and then take that first drink of beer. Good to feel the cool breeze in the window on my hot, overworked self--simple pleasures of being alive. I'm going to miss them when I'm dead.

It's the first day of summer, and the sun is setting farther north than it will until a year from now. Where will I be a year from now, when the sun next sets on that particular tree? Will I be watching it set on that particular tree again? If I've finished my work here, I'll back in the US, and since it would be a Friday at 3pm I would probably be in an Illinois office, ready for a summer weekend. But with or without me, from this window the sun will set on that same tree. Maybe the apartment's new tenant would see it. Maybe no one would see it. I would never know.