A shadow of my former self

The daughter is moved back into her dorm. As is the non-daughter of the same name, only she has no room key, so we could not take her stuff up to the third floor. Alas.
I estimate that I made between 15 and eighteen trips up and down the precipitous steps with the drizzle and the moss from the truck to the apartment.
And the truck, ah yes. When I moved them into the apt I drove Doug's car (slightly larger than mine) something like six and a half times back and forth from NoHo to Amherst; this time I drove only a couple of times. The truck was a 17-foot U-Haul and had no pickup, such that I had to floor it before it would edge away from the stoplight. I was terrified I would suddenly accelerate and take out two or three passenger cars. The only time there was any danger of that was when I was backing. I try not to back. It took me 25 minutes to get out of the driveway of the apt because the ditzes downstairs didn't realize when I asked them to move their cars, I meant OUT of the way. They thought five feet was out of the way. I should have squashed them. And it was a very noisy diesel, such that all three gears sounded like the engine was about to explode.

I have been supported through this by Grace and Dahlia, absolute bricks whom the daughter cannot understand why they speak to us. Dahlia went and got Daughter a rug because she wanted an excuse to go shopping (rug had mildewed in storage considerably). Daughter has not done badly herself, and is responsible for the failure to explode of the gas station where I refilled the tank. And she and the non-daughter worked themselves into the ground moving stuff. Good character was shown by all. I am shot to hell and will return to my home in the morning, going straight to work.

But the female chick is moved back to the correct incubator. I hope the male chick has a gentle reentry to academic life.