Erin's Everyday Thoughts

Monday, August 06, 2007

The Hot, Hot Heat


Yesterday, I helped friends who live on the third story of a three-story house move their stuff down to a moving truck. I started out helping in the kitchen—packing boxes, organizing. It is always oddly unsettling to me when I’m asked to help pack and sort other people’s things. Even items as generic as kitchen goods seem intimate. I feel responsible for creating rhyme and reason in the boxes. Packing up someone else’s things is something I do not like to do.

I was happy when I was able to switch gears from packing to hauling. I constructed three wardrobe boxes (I’d never seen these before, but they’re a great idea—cardboard boxes with metal racks so you can haul your hanging clothes in an orderly fashion) and proceeded to take trip after trip up and down the stairs until all of the hanging clothes was safely secured within the boxes.

The stairs were steep. And narrow. The day was hot. I was there between 2 and 6 pm. After I’d been moving clothes for half an hour, I ran into my brother-in-law (who had been moving heavy furniture down the stairs since before I arrived and who was soaked through with sweat), and he said, “I see you’ve caught up.” I looked down and saw that my blue tank top was a darker, sweatier shade of blue. I had obviously noticed the sweat dripping down from my hairline, but I hadn’t noticed the shirt. And I hadn’t noticed my legs—they were slick with sweat. There were pieces of lint and hair stuck to them that the sweat had attracted and held onto.

This all sounds gross, and I can’t say that I didn’t have moments of feeling somewhat miserable, but there is also something exhilarating about heavy sweating. It feels like a release, like a cleansing. I was sure to drink a lot of water to replenish myself, but the sweat made me feel in an odd way clean. (Smelly, but clean.)

I went home at 6 to walk Phoebe the dog so my older brother (who usually walks Phoebe, as she’s his dog) could stay and continue the move. Phoebe couldn’t stop licking my legs—they must have tasted so good and salty.

After the walk, I took the best kind of shower, using chilly water and an extensive lather to wipe away the grime. Afterward, I felt tired and happy.

3 Comments:

  • Erin,
    In the spirit of "all things interesting - OK maybe just silly", I offer this: I was the subject of a blog entry that you commented on over a year ago. The Blog site was Beth's Front Porch - March 06 entitled " poor little night writings". I found your take on the poem perceptive at the time and portentious in retrospect. I revisited Beth's Front Porch recently because of a broken heart - I broke up with Beth a year ago - regretted ( too late) that I did that - and found out that Beth has moved on after trying to win her back. Why am I wriing you? I have no really valid reason but here are my feeble stabs at validity: 1) Re-reading Beth's poem and your response makes me feel closer to the "sweet delight" ( your words from your blog) of that Valentine's Day or 2) Maybe you are a friend of Beth and can put in a good word or 3) I can somehow post or circulate some Beth related scenes from a movie script that I am working on that might touch her somehow. I imagine that all of this seems insane, but you seem to be a sensitive and compassionate, ( though sweaty), young woman. In closing, I want to say that I find YOUR blog interesting and uplifting. All this " emotional heavy sweating" has left me tired but happier for having come here....Steve p.s. I was also the subject of a 11/5 posting entitled Nouveau Knitting

    By Blogger Steve, at 4:24 PM  

  • Hi, Steve. It's nice to meet you, and I'm glad you enjoyed reading some entries in my blog. Good luck with everything!

    By Blogger Erin, at 1:25 PM  

  • Erin, I just can't have the same enthusiasm for getting sweaty as you do. You describe it well, though. It is lovely writing. I am going to write your letter over the weekend and send it out first thing on Monday. It should get there in plenty of time.

    By Blogger Theresa Williams, at 1:48 AM  

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