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I'm alive. I'm in Elgin for ten days until we close on the house.
We packed and loaded four years of accumulated stuff with only two people. This has taught me two things:
1) Burn your stuff every year.
2) Always have at least three people to move, even if you have to kidnap a bum. (or possibly, never live in a town where you don't have at least one friend who'll help you move.)
We weren't out of the old apartment till three in the morning, technically three hours past our move-out date. We did not vacuum or shampoo the carpet, for which I feel inexplicably lousy, although I did leave the fridge spotless. Then, at three in the morning, we started the four hour drive to Austin. I had five cats in the car. At least two of them were being axe-murdered the whole way down. Who knew a cat could take so long to die, and not end up dead?
My cats meeting my mother's dogs was comedy gold, until Siggy (the smallest yet fattest cat) got into a really real fight with the Australian shepherd. The dog and I were the only ones who ended up bleeding, though Miss Siggy broke a claw on dog-belly. Now the cats are holed up under the bed with no plans to emerge.
I suppose, since I'm stuck here for ten days with nothing to do, that I have no excuse not to work on The B*@k. Except today, while my story files are still in a box in the car--that's a fine excuse.
We packed and loaded four years of accumulated stuff with only two people. This has taught me two things:
1) Burn your stuff every year.
2) Always have at least three people to move, even if you have to kidnap a bum. (or possibly, never live in a town where you don't have at least one friend who'll help you move.)
We weren't out of the old apartment till three in the morning, technically three hours past our move-out date. We did not vacuum or shampoo the carpet, for which I feel inexplicably lousy, although I did leave the fridge spotless. Then, at three in the morning, we started the four hour drive to Austin. I had five cats in the car. At least two of them were being axe-murdered the whole way down. Who knew a cat could take so long to die, and not end up dead?
My cats meeting my mother's dogs was comedy gold, until Siggy (the smallest yet fattest cat) got into a really real fight with the Australian shepherd. The dog and I were the only ones who ended up bleeding, though Miss Siggy broke a claw on dog-belly. Now the cats are holed up under the bed with no plans to emerge.
I suppose, since I'm stuck here for ten days with nothing to do, that I have no excuse not to work on The B*@k. Except today, while my story files are still in a box in the car--that's a fine excuse.
