The really cool thing about a new day is that it has the ability to be completely different from the day that came before it. If today is rainy, dark and dank, tomorrow has the power to be sunny, bright and an all around joy.

That’s why I love new days: There’s nothing else in the whole wide world even remotely like them and they can pretty much be expected to keep coming for the next few gazillion years, making new days the most reliable things in life (other than death and taxes, of course).

My today (your days/weeks/months/years ago) was a day that had me pining for a bright tomorrow. I’m a writer, and I’m short, lanky, and absurdly handsome (the mirrors words not mine). I’m also more of the pray-to-every-god-I-can-think-of-that-the-couches-miraculously-move-themselves kind of guy than the do-it-yourself-type, so I was understandably distraught at my family’s decision to move for free, which to my ears sounds like a thrifty way of denying me the burly ease of professional movers.

The day started off as my days usually do, with my alarm clock’s unrelenting beep-beep-beeping, and my silent self assurance that tomorrow would definitely be the day that I don’t groggily set my alarm 20 minutes later and squeeze out what little rest I have left before the day starts.

When the sounds of waking once again hit my ears, and after I determined that no tossable object laying near my bed could possibly make it to the snore button (I’m not a very athletic man), I reluctantly arose to meet the new day, sure that before its end, my arms would be broken in 50 different places and my brain would be the only part of me that still worked at close to mint condition.

By the time I stepped out of the shower I had a different outlook. Maybe it was the warm water, maybe it was my wet hair or maybe it was my voice bouncing off the dripping shower walls and giving me visions of superstardom. I don’t know for sure what it was, but something about that shower made the day seem like it just might be bright and joyous.

Unfortunately, as soon as I clothed I learned that — along with my friends/occasional boarders — I would be doing the entirety of the heavy lifting. I frowned, sighed, cried, screamed, even threw a tantrum or two, but in about eight hours’ time I was an exhausted man with new house full of heavy furniture.

Now, as I sit here in my new room in my new house on my not-so-new street, I look around at all the stuff that still needs to be packed, all the things that still need to be moved, and all the crap that really just needs to be trashed, and I breathe a sigh of relief – all work to be done on the next new day.

Dominique Lyons is a sophomore news major. Contact him at [email protected].