Rabbit, rabbit. I am safely installed in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks and gaudior's spare room, which at the moment looks like an explosion in a transient hotel, but will look significantly better tomorrow after I have had a chance to relocate the desk and the dresser into their proper corners and unpack some of the suitcases and garbage bags. I have brought four pieces of art with me, including the one I trash-picked in July and now feel responsible for; I have my mezuzah and the little bronze fascinum and Doppel-Abbie, because the live cats are with derspatchel and I will arrange to visit them as soon as I can. It turns out that I own seventy-four white Staples boxes of books and at least one brown packing box that mostly contains The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror and none of them are here with me, because if there were seventy-odd boxes of books in this room, there wouldn't be room for me. (I have a few books. I always have books. The selection widened from Kipling, Wittgenstein, and Yolen to include Ursula K. Le Guin's The Wind's Twelve Quarters (1975) and Katharine Butterworth and Sara Schneider's Rebetika: Songs from the Old Greek Underworld, of which I may or may not manage to read any before my body notices it's now past five o'clock in the morning and I have to be awake before two in the afternoon to let in the technician from RCN.) I have the futon while the frame is in storage. I have the box of Comcast equipment, which must be returned to them posthaste before they charge me the equivalent cost. I have a highly random selection of objects which turned up at the eleventh hour of packing out, like the immersion blender both Rob and I had forgotten we owned. I do not have Rob, and this will take some getting used to. This is a separation of circumstance rather than a declaration of intent, but even so. It is my birthday month and everything is in a strange liminal state, neither here nor there nor in any way settled. I am going to try to sleep for real for the first time in nearly three days. The move is over.
rushthatspeaks and gaudior's spare room, which at the moment looks like an explosion in a transient hotel, but will look significantly better tomorrow after I have had a chance to relocate the desk and the dresser into their proper corners and unpack some of the suitcases and garbage bags. I have brought four pieces of art with me, including the one I trash-picked in July and now feel responsible for; I have my mezuzah and the little bronze fascinum and Doppel-Abbie, because the live cats are with derspatchel and I will arrange to visit them as soon as I can. It turns out that I own seventy-four white Staples boxes of books and at least one brown packing box that mostly contains The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror and none of them are here with me, because if there were seventy-odd boxes of books in this room, there wouldn't be room for me. (I have a few books. I always have books. The selection widened from Kipling, Wittgenstein, and Yolen to include Ursula K. Le Guin's The Wind's Twelve Quarters (1975) and Katharine Butterworth and Sara Schneider's Rebetika: Songs from the Old Greek Underworld, of which I may or may not manage to read any before my body notices it's now past five o'clock in the morning and I have to be awake before two in the afternoon to let in the technician from RCN.) I have the futon while the frame is in storage. I have the box of Comcast equipment, which must be returned to them posthaste before they charge me the equivalent cost. I have a highly random selection of objects which turned up at the eleventh hour of packing out, like the immersion blender both Rob and I had forgotten we owned. I do not have Rob, and this will take some getting used to. This is a separation of circumstance rather than a declaration of intent, but even so. It is my birthday month and everything is in a strange liminal state, neither here nor there nor in any way settled. I am going to try to sleep for real for the first time in nearly three days. The move is over.
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