|Image description: Writer looking just a little bit harried.|
Or like he's about to cut down a mighty tree with a herring.
Definitely one of those H words with lots of Rs though.
I got moved.
In two days.
With a Toyota Prius (C model).
Well it was sort of two and a half days, and there was a "desk adventure" this morning with a toddler. Also, there's still a king sized mattress in Oakland that I need to retrieve after I get back from Denver, and right now a queen sized futon is on top of a king sized box frame. But you know, let's not harsh my squee with all these bullshit trivial details.
It was still epic.
On the other hand, I'm just the tiniest bit ready to have a nap, put my feet up, eat some salt and pepper Kettle chips with store bought French onion dip in front of a shitty movie, and engage in the sort of stress relief that requires enthusiastic consent.
Not that I'm done. Oh no my friends. My room looks like a Total Recall set piece from the future sequences with the twisted steal beams and the chunks of concrete. Oh and the skull being crushed by a robot, but the skull is my free time, and the terminator robot is my schedule. Arnold shows up and says "Come with me...if you want to play No Man's Sky before all the planets are colonized." Then there was a fist fight over molten metal...symbolically.
Hasta la Vista.......free time.
Oh I'm not even close to done, and I don't just mean the installation of the bead curtain or the disco ball. Every inch of floor space is covered with shit I need to unpack. From unbuilt Ikea bookshelves named Billy to clothes to random power strips that somehow outnumber the actual outlets by a factor of three. (How the fuck....?) There are collapsable plastic banker boxes and even old Costco Sun Chips cardboard boxes crammed full of everything from organized stacks of all my writing/craft books to the hodgepodge "Fuck it" box of everything that isn't easily organized, but is still there when you're running late, tired, and ready to be done with goddamned fucking packing.
|Included is an actual piggy bank, my mother's 50 year old flute,|
a CBEST practice test workbook, a reading stand, and something that
if I'm not mistaken is an as of yet unused vibrating tongue piercing.
As if that weren't enough by itself, today until Wednesday, I will be doing 8 to 10 (or more) hour shifts with The Contrarian and tonight and Wednesday, that's before I go to teach for another five hours. I also am feeding two sets of cats for folks who are at Burning Man, and have to make at least an appearance in Oakland and Hayward in the morning and at night.
I'm glad I'm filling up my car for roughly the same amount as my Geo Metro back in '94. (Did you just "Back in my day" us Chris? Shut up whippersnapper. Get off my lawn.)
Oh by the way, did I mention that I moved this weekend for the second time in a month? Yeah. I did that.
Anyway, I'm so frazzled, I can't even come up with a contrived pretense of connective tissue this this has anything to do with writing (except maybe that I kept doing it no matter how busy I was, and so should you) but mostly I wanted to let you know that this week will be back loaded instead of front loaded (as weeks usually are). I'm going to do the soft shoeing early in the week and put up the heavy hitters later on. Thursday morning I get on a train to Denver and will have little to do but sit and write (and read) for 36 hours. So that's when all the meaty posts will be coming.