Who needs the gym? Just move often.

14 hours to pack a still fairly unpacked house before the movers arrive at 7 AM on Saturday.

Had been hobbled by a nasty toothache, but it lifted today alhamdulillah just in time for Heimdal to blow his horn signaling Ragnarok.

To mix religio-cultural metaphors, I felt like Samson, praying for my old strength for one last mighty feat, and lo and behold it was granted (at least the strength–we’ll see about the victory over all these Philistine boxes).

Have gotten some help from friends–for which I’m certainly grateful–but it’s turned into the usual, miserable one-man show.

I’ve helped a lot of people move over the years, but I don’t usually volunteer without being asked (at least in the case of men–I do make an effort to help women, considering it a form of zakat on my health and relative strength).

Obviously, life’s complicated and all sorts of things come up that are beyond one’s control, and the pace and pressures of American life aren’t exactly conducive to thinking about others to begin with, but speaking generally if your friends and acquaintances have to seek you out for help when you know they really need it, something might be wrong. That’s something I need to remember.

But back to my battle to the death to the death with the hydra.

9:30 PM. 9 1/2 hours till the truck arrives and the men begin loading.

On the bright side, looks like fajr salat will be snap for a change.