"Nic was pondering, mid-climb of a dead escalator and struggling with a 20-kilo suitcase, that she used to have to do everything with nearly double the weight of that laden valise on her actual person... Quite a revelation!"
I got the same heavy suitcase up the two-and-a-half (the house has a strange layout) floors up to my flat boggling at every step. I used to carry twice the weight of this wardrobe on wheels wrapped around me, lagging my legs, encasing my arms, enveloping my body in layers of flesh, a corpulent cocoon out of which I am only starting to emerge.
It seems such an abstract concept somehow. I, me, this person, used to live, to walk, to work with twice as much weight on them as this very heavy thing I've just hauled up the stairs. It feels like there should be a punchline. Not that I mean I think the whole thing's a joke; on the contrary, although I can't quite explain it yet, somehow it feels like this whole notion is approaching that almost unbelievable end of the seriously real spectrum.
Where impossible reaches possible.
