When did my life become all about the schlep? The backwards and forwards and upwards and downwards. I am obsessed with ‘schlep management’. So there’s the micro-schlep; as in, “Somehow – even at the risk of injury – I must carry these bags from the car to the house in one go because I must.” Or, “I must carry my plate, knife and fork and phone, salt and pepper and drink from the kitchen to the sofa in one trip only because WHY would I make that journey twice?” Is it laziness? Sort of. Let’s assume it’s a variation on laziness. The bastard child of indolence and extreme impatience. And it’s a private practice.
Then there’s the macro-schlep management and this is where the stress comes in. Let’s imagine you live in West London. Ealing, perhaps. And there’s something fun/duty-fuelled in Hackney, maybe. Could earn you a promotion. Might make you a new friend. Possibly there may be a prospective lover present. Or it’s just a really good friend’s birthday and it would be rubbish not to show. From the moment the diary entry is made, it becomes – not about the sleep, not about the uber fare, not about the outfit – all about the schelp. Can I bear it? How long will it take? At rush hour? What’s the weather forecast – because rain doubles the schlep-xiety every time.
Some travel hopefully. They enjoy the journey. For others, it’s all about the schlep. Literally and metaphorically. I wonder if I fussed less about ‘having to change tube lines FFS’ whether I might enjoy life more and stop wondering when the fun was going to start.
