Posted on 19 June 2012
I’m still here and I’m still succumbing to all the mundane domestic work involved in moving into a new house. Still working on those floors. Still trying to get my writing room in shape. The furniture doesn’t quite fit in the writing room and I think this might be a good excuse to get a new, smaller desk to replace the one I dumpster dived (dove?) from an apartment complex in Washington, DC. That was back when I was capable of moving all my stuff in a 10-foot truck.
The cats are mostly settled in and love all the windows, but Saucy has some trouble with the hardwood floors. She keeps slipping and sliding. I have done no writing or revising whatsoever, which is to be expected, and I’ve eaten way too much junk food and microwaved meals, which is also to be expected. Exercise is limited to my furious floor-scrubbing sessions, which I think are just about over, thank god. I keep thinking I’ve finished unpacking the kitchen only to have to unpack more and then rearrange everything once again. Repair and delivery people make their steady rounds. Our little second-floor balcony is almost in shape and ready for use. The garden is still completely and hopelessly overgrown. The city is tearing up the street in front of our house. I’m looking at construction equipment right now.
I’m writing this post this in my writing room — an unpacked, messy room with a litter box in the closet and unpacked photo albums and books blocking the door, but still. Here I am.
Where are you?