The bag ripped mid-lift. Because Sarah and I did major grocery shopping yesterday morning and afternoon, we thought it best to bring my stuff to my apartment even though I was spending the night at her place.

In truth, I should I have known I could not carry those four bags at once, but I was determined to do it in one trip. Just as I heard the tear, I also heard a man's voice asking me if I needed help. I looked up, smiled and said I did, and had him lift two of those bags into the lobby of my building.

I am so accustomed to figuring out how to manage unwieldy (and often heavy) packages, arrange for the moving/delivery of heavy things, and negotiate the running of my own household in all its various facets, that the simple offer of help, and my ability to accept it was staggering to me. Under normal circumstances, I might have said no, figuring it was not this man's job to stop what he was doing to help me with my groceries. I might have considered that it was my role to get myself out of that minor jam...

One of the obvious benefits of coupledom would be to have help, as a matter of course, where such matters are concerned. It makes me think of Ecclesiastes 4:9-11:

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:
If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls
and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?"

In any case, I am now back in my apartment (have been since about 11:30 a.m.) and have completed Phase II of the cleaning in anticipation of my sister's arrival. I'm so wiped out I could take a nap, and I almost never nap anymore...