Two Days Post-Move

I'm exhausted.
I've returned to work after moving from our old house to our new house.
We moved some stuff on Friday.
We had movers come on Saturday to move our big stuff (like a piano).
My wife, mother, a friend and myself all moved other stuff while the movers were doing the big stuff.
After the movers left, the four of us continued to work.
Sunday, my wife and I continued to move stuff.
Today is Monday, and we'll be moving stuff later today.
Tomorrow is Tuesday. We'll be moving stuff on Tuesday.
At this point, I hate stuff.
All of it.
I want it all gone.
When I think of "stuff" right now, all I think of is sweat raining off my forehead, down my back and chest and pooling in my taint and asshole, and then chafing. And somewhere in there, my muscles feel like bowling balls dipped in really hot salsa, preventing me from moving quickly or with any comfort.

The upside of this is that we have a new, kickass house.
The boys are excited.
My wife and I are excited.
It's a great house.
Really great.
And I got to buy it with my wife.
And sometimes I'm still giddy that she's my wife.
That she married me.
That she likes me.
I'm overjoyed that she turned out to be my best friend.
But on top of that, she likes it when I kiss her.
And she wants to kiss me back.
And she makes me laugh.
And she's got a great butt.
And she is the only person I want to be with no matter where I am.
I love her more than this kickass house.
And the fact that she lives in this house with me makes a world of difference.

But today, my asshole has some kind of painful rash-thing going on with it and my muscles are screaming like infants being trampled. And I want to throw away everything I've ever owned. It all sucks. Except my wife. And our boys. And the house. And my mom. And the friend that helped us. And the movers were okay, too. And my wife.