coming home

The move was weird, but smooth. I have more to write about it, but no time right now. Forty boxes were moved into the flat’s hallway on Saturday morning, and by bedtime last night, I had unpacked 35 of them and moved the rest into my bedroom.

Zen is adjusting well, although she woke me up this morning at 06:00 with a horrible puking noise, and all that racket resulted in one miniscule droplet of barf on the carpet. I don’t get it.

I will not have regular net access from home until I sort out how to hook up my desktop and its peripherals with only two two-pronged outlets. Then I must contend with the fascism from Comcast, which disallows two computers in one home online at the same time.

O, and our kitchen sink is not draining properly, and despite a valiant effort on our maintenance guy’s part yesterday, the pipe is still leaking into the flat below ours. So tonight after work I need to rush home and wait for him to show up, lock Zen in my bedroom, lather rinse repeat …

And let’s not even think about cleaning up the old place.

But you know, it’s all worth it. All of it. My grandfather clock looks wonderful right next to Char’s comfy burgundy sofa. My kitchen table fits snugly in the kitchen. And as I walked out into the late afternoon sunshine yesterday, that wriggling puppy inside turned around three times and curled up.


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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.