This moving furniture is not for crocked up, dodgy-kneed old broads. I am hurting in so many different places I couldn't go two rounds with a wet sponge without a TKO.
I have a second bedroom again, make that bedroom/sewing room because it's sharing with two huge boxes of beads and other boxes I haven't dared look in yet. I washed the windows and the curtain and vacuumed half the floor. I thought I might have gotten away with not washing the curtains but bunched together they weren't exactly white more into a silvery grey truckload of dust colour. It meant I had to go up the ladder to re-hang them, miracle, no bruises.
All I had to do then was move the photo albums, heavy so I turfed some of the ex's hideous features which didn't lighten the load but made me very happy. Then drag the cupboard out, move the chair, move the TV, move the other couch, move the dolls in the hall, shove the sewing machine out of the way and slide the sofa bed into its new home.
I can't remember how I originally got it out of the study and into the lounge since it practically has to go around an S-bend corner. I was four years younger then. It didn't slide straight through the door but I'm sure I'll get the feeling back in the hand in a couple of weeks. I had to tip it on its side and slide. It's in place but nothing else is.
The nothing else includes several vertebrae, my knees, hand and left foot which I whacked with the vacuum cleaner. I feel quite proud of myself if I don't look at the albums still on the floor or the detritus tucked around the corner out of sight. It'll right itself, all in good time.
I'll just go and get an ice pack and a handful of painkillers.