I’m moving in another week. Actually, I’m moving twice, as I have to be out of my current apartment a week before I can move into my new one, a fact that is causing me quite a bit of stress. I’m divvying my friends up into two sets, one to help me move out, the other to help me move in. But there’s still the issue of packing.
I decided not to pack my comic books, as I know from experience that the binders are a bitch and a half to box. So I’m carrying three binders at a time to work to sit out the move, which means a lot of logistics and swearing on the subway, not to mention trembly, tired arms. As I lugged the first three binders this morning, I calculated that since I collected loose comics for roughly eight years before switching to graphic novels, each binder represented roughly ten months of my life and a hundred dollars of babysitting money. (And these are the comics I’ve kept; there are another 200 issues I’ve gotten rid of, plus a whole shelf of graphic novels that are hella easier to pack!) It’s a little frightening to realize how much of myself I invested in a hobby I don’t really keep up with anymore. But even though I’ve moved on, I have to admit I’ve been waiting for someone at work to ask me what’s in the binders so I can show why I love Alan Davis so much.