The sale of our home went through, the move has happened, and I’m currently at a coffee shop in my new town, catching up on email and taking a deep breath. We have no internet at home yet, but can occasionally glom onto someone else’s unprotected network (when it’s available).
The dog is adjusting well to condo living, traveling in elevators, etc. I am adjusting to a kitchen the size of a tablespoon (which includes the stacked laundry facility, too), after having the kitchen of my dreams at our former home. Sigh.
As for writing, well … it hasn’t happened yet. Right after the sale closed, I caught the cold of the century. I sat bleary-eyed at the window seat as the movers packed the kitchen around me. I drove bleary-eyed across the state, following my hubby’s car’s taillights through the unfamiliar twists and turns of strange roadways. And over the weekend, I mechanically unpacked box after box. Afterward, I crushed the empty papers inside a tall box like grapes, compacting them as tightly as possible. Boxes emptied around me, stacks of possessions great and small rose and fell as they emerged, then found new homes. Meditative.
The kitchen boxes are almost gone (some food remains boxed, but available), the living room only has stemware going into the corner cabinets remaining. Bedrooms and baths are done. Only the office remains unpacked. Unfortunately, this is where the empty boxes are stacked until the movers pick them up. But how am I to unpack the remaining boxes? Aargh. Too much for my cold-addled brain to compute.
Thus, another reason for my trip here to the coffee shop: I can’t reach my desk. The laptop was accessible, though, and I felt the need to touch it, to type words, if not stories. I checked email, I checked Duotrope. All six stories are still out to sea. Good news, good news. All is well.
Happy writing, all! Stay healthy.