The Move Toward Freedom Westward AKA The Continuing Story Of My Life>Act 9

The weekend I arrived home I did nothing but go to work, pack and sleep. It was my friend the Mighty Minister who told me that if I wasn’t 99 percent packed this time as opposed to my last move when I lived in Chicago and at that time, I was only 25 percent packed up, that he wouldn’t help me.

So I packed and I packed and I packed and I packed and I packed and I packed, averaging about five boxes per every 3 hours! The funny and most ironic thing of it all was that the landlady didn’t say a word about all of those boxes that were being placed outside my door. I never even saw her the week she came home and did my best to avoid her, for if no other real reason I didn’t want to get into a confrontation, which is what I was expecting to happen.

Fast forward to late night September 10th, 2004; I was packing at a furious speed and of a rate of up to five boxes per two hours, I was nearly finished! I contacted all of my friends who promised to help me move out and also made arrangements with those who were arriving by public transportation to pick them up by a certain time so we could move my belongings out at a reasonable hour and return the truck on time without me getting overcharged.

I went out late that night for a breather and bought myself a pizza, as a sort of mini-celebration for what was about to occur within the following 12 hours. I also regained back my strength both physically and mentally for what I knew what was really coming.

Saturday, September 11, 2004 had at last arrived. I was awake early, at approximately six in the morning, continued to pack a few more boxes and made a few final surveys of the apartment, figuring out what would be thrown away and what I would be taking.

Moving this time out I felt would be a breeze, as I didn’t have that much to move at all, mostly boxes, a rocking chair & assorted chairs, a futon mattress, three bookcases, a dresser, a coffee table, two computers, three television sets, one radio, electronic equipment galore, sheet music, my filing cabinet filled with both my writing & published works archives, books and my music, which consisted of several boxes of cassettes, CDs and a few stray vinyl records.

At approximately eight-thirty in the morning I received my first phone call from my best friend Zog-19, to tell me he was leaving from his launch pad and would soon be there within the hour to help me begin the pull-out. If I wasn’t there, he said he would just wait until I returned. I didn’t hear any stirring from above, so I knew I was alright for the moment.

It was almost an hour and a half later, about ten in the morning to be exact, when a call came in from my loopy friend and ex-band-mate Lew Brickhate; he called from a pay phone, to tell me he was ready to be picked up from the El and wondered “where there hell was I,” he spoke to me most sarcastically. Shortly thereafter, my mentor, The Toothless Hag phoned me to tell me he also arrived at the El, but would walk to my place and just start moving boxes and furniture the moment he arrived.

So, I went to pick up Lew and in the meantime, received word from Twitchy, another friend who said he’d be on his way shortly. Having said and done that, I had my four moving men plus myself to begin our long, yet short journey westward. When I returned with the moving truck, I told Lew to go inside the apartment and just start pulling out boxes.

The only person missing in action was the Mighty Minister; for some reason he was waiting for a package (a replacement cell phone, I think) at his lakefront condominium that never arrived. It’s too bad he missed out on all the fun and excitement that was about to happen...