On the Weight of Vinyl: A Life of Moving Heavy Records

I have been moving into our new house for what seems like days. First, we had to paint each room and remove the carpet, and then we have slowly been moving our stuff over the past week. Whenever I move, I think about getting rid of some of my records or books because of the effort of moving them. Of course, this never happens, and I find myself moving more each time, constantly swearing and cursing at myself for my collection. 

I generally move them by myself so that no one else will have to suffer. I take the records off my shelf, put them in plastic storage containers, and then lug them to my car only to lug them out again. When I am done, my arms are black and blue from bruises. These deep bruises will turn yellow and take weeks to heal. When I move books in town, I have switched to smaller boxes and more trips to make it easier, but I have not found a better way to move vinyl. I started using large milk crates, but they beat my arms up as much and took more time. I ended up settling for the storage containers, even though I know that it will be painful. 

Our last apartment was on the second floor, and it was a struggle as I moved container after container down the metal stairs, grunting and heaving in the humid Arkansas dusk. Then the lights went out, and I heaved the containers through the dark with just one thought; I will be able to listen to these records soon, so I have to move them. 

As of this writing, some of them are put away, but the rest are still in containers, and I feel too tired to hook up the turntable. It will happen as soon as get done checking my emails and completing other work that I have neglected when we moved. Surrounded by boxes of collected bric-a-brac, I will finally drop the needle on an LP. It will be worth it, won't it?


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