Two Problems

The first, I was surprised to discover, is a credibility problem. This has been brought to my attention in the last few days, and to tell you the truth, I was shocked. It seems that very few among my friends actually believed me for the past two years when I said I wanted to move–and that I would as soon as I decided where I wanted to go.

In December I decided and announced that I was going to move to California. Then, a couple of weeks ago when I found a house to move to, I told the same people that I would be moving within six weeks. Now, I am finding out, they didn’t believe me, but I didn’t know that then.

Ten days ago I sent out the e-mail notification of my change of address, phone, and e-mail and that’s when I found out I had had, for some time, a problem of considerable magnitude.

The response to my e-mail was overwhelming.

“You mean you are really moving?”

“What’s happening? California??”

“What’s going on?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you serious?” (As if I would go through the hassle of changing an e-mail address if I weren’t serious.)

They professed to be in shock, but in reality, I was the real shock victim. Why hadn’t these people believed me when I had been telling them what I was going to do all along? They know I’ve always done what I’ve said I would, including several moves of the magnitude of this one–two of them to other countries, and with far less advance notice. I really don’t get what all their professed stupefaction was about.

After giving it some thought, I decided the cause of this climate of unbelief lies with the man who professes to be the God-appointed president of this country–something that still shocks me every time I am forced to think of it. After we found out that all those weapons of mass destruction did not exist–after we had gone to war over them–no one believes anyone anymore. That must be it.

Meanwhile, I practically had to hire a secretary just so answer the e-mails of disbelief that flooded my inbox. I need a form letter–maybe this column is it.

Then, the second problem is lunch. It has to do with its destructive properties.

How can it be that something as benign as lunch can essentially wipe out an entire day? I’m currently collecting a lot of statistical evidence that this is in fact true.

Now that I am moving to another state so far from where I am now that the common belief among many of my friends is that I’m leaving for beyond Mars, everyone I’ve ever known wants to have lunch with me. This is all very nice, and I would love to have lunch with everyone, but I am mystified. Why has it taken this announcement of the move to another galaxy to bring many of these people out from where they’ve been hiding for the past few years? We could have had lunch last year or last August or even last December without any scheduling problems of the sort I have now.

As it is, I am now trying to cram doctor’s appointments, dentist’s appointments, clients’ appointments, trips to IKEA, more trips to IKEA, vet appointments for the children of the feline sort, trips to the gym to be sure my body doesn’t self-destruct, phone calls to insurance agents, movers, furniture people to assemble the stuff from IKEA, utility providers, cell phone providers, internet providers, not to mention massive amounts of pitching and packing, and organizing a yard sale. When is there time to have lunch? Each time I’ve tried it, the whole day has gone with it.

It’s just that there aren’t enough hours in a morning to get on a roll before it gets interrupted by lunch, if lunch is to take place in another location, and then once back from that lunch, the afternoon seems to be over before it has begun.

There must be a solution.

I know. For each of the recently emerged lunch goers, I should issue the invitation for them to bring lunch to me. And as we’re eating, I can continue to do what I’ve been doing–assuming that it will also allow me to talk. But is that possible? Can eating, packing, and talking happen simultaneously? But wait–I also have to be able to think as I pack and that could be the third problem. Maybe if I line up the boxes next to what goes in them and just wait to do it until lunch, I will be able to do that mindlessly while also talking and eating.

Of course this may not be an appealing plan to those whom I invite. That’s fine too. No lunch and the day left intact. That’ll work.