You're moving into a new house. Not your idea really. More like your wife's. She nagged and nagged til you gave in. You're such a softie. At work, at home, on the train, at the gym. You're the nice guy.
You're moving into a new house tomorrow. Still have to finish packing. A bunch of boxes sits on the floor in the attic. They're empty. You are in the middle. You have to figure out what to take to the new house, what to toss out in the trash. It's so hard to choose. You'd like to take everything but your wife said "there is no room for all that junk, just pick a few things and toss out the rest." And you said "ok dear."
You're moving into a new house where there is no room for too many memories. You look around and start from the corner bookcase stuffed with yellowing books from high school and college, even your term papers. I guess I can toss that stuff you think. And begin to page through papers and books. Suddenly you hear your wife's voice. "Dinner is ready! Are you up there?" You don't answer. "Dinner is ready," she repeats. "Come down right now." Dinner is ready? you ask yourself. What time is it? How long have I been up here?
You're moving into a new house tomorrow morning and at this pace you won't be done til next year. Still haven't decided what to take, what to toss. So hard to leave your life in a big, black trash bin in the alley. "I hope you're done with all that." She places a steaming plate of spaghetti with red sauce in front of you. You stare at the spaghetti silently, then say "Sure, I'm done. I'm all done."