as i staggered up the hill to our new flat tonight on my third moving trip of the last 24 hours, i was trying to decide whether pushing or pulling the bulging food cart was less likely to shred my insistently protesting tendons. of course, having been duly reared on the children's songbook, right on cue 'some must push and some must pull' leapt into my head, accompanied by its faithful companion, pioneer-guilt: 'at least you aren't pulling a handcart.' but then, in a moment of inspiration, i finally hit upon a successful counter to the 25-odd years of generational shame born of my inescapable physical, emotional, and spiritual enervation in comparison to my ancestors' indomitable fortitude:
the pioneers didn't have to take the tube.
yes, they did face the wyoming hinterlands. but the northern line at rush hour, pack-muling all one's belongings in various contrivances that insist on encroaching on others' personal space and then making a run for it? when standing at the bottom of 3 flights of grimy, slightly fetid stairs as one lurches through london's labyrinthine bowels, nebraska sounds awfully refreshing.
on a more positive note, i can actually hear a bird outside my window. i think it might even be a nightingale. we're obviously not in whitechapel anymore (i'm in mourning for rinkoff's.).
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