I’m almost back. I’ve found the boxes that have my computers in them—and almost all the little cords and clips that connect them all together, but I’m not going online from home until the cable man comes on Saturday morning. (I originally wrote “cable person,” then thought, “nah, it’s always a bloke.” But what if it’s not? Then I shall feel bad.)
Here’s what I have discovered about moving into your first house: You don’t want to deal with the crappy apartment you used to live in and all the junk that’s still in there, but you have to, Blanche, you have to. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought, “What would happen if I just left all that stuff in there for the landlord to deal with?” But then I remember: You’re only moving six blocks away, and it’s not like the landlord will never find you. And there’s the whole karma thing too. Ach, but in a few days we’ll be able to focus on the new house, and the apartment that now seems so shabby and depressing but which was perfectly adequate for five years will be a thing of the past.
I’m not leaving you empty-handed though. Please check out the record of
what I did on my summer vacation. (Even though I insisted to everyone who wished me a nice holiday that I WAS NOT GOING ON VACATION. Lady doth protest too much and all that.) Click once, click often. And tell all your friends.
