…to the land of the sane. Well, almost.

This may be one of the last posts about the untangling that is moving. The move is over. The Republic house sparkles for the next tenant. Floor space has appeared in the River house. The writer has had a fairly good night’s sleep for the first time in weeks. Life is beginning to seem like life again.

Work remains to be done. Boxes lurk. The garage is un-car-able, and the car is still full of unpacked stuff. Corners of chaos threaten. The conundrum of what to do with the leftover good stuff is constant. We are down to the small madnesses. Which, considering the blur that recent weeks have been, is quite extraordinary.          

I am not likely to find many friends among the sanitation engineers, hereabouts. My Dyson has died. The search for work continues. Some things, happily, refuse to change (like fat white cats sleeping in bizarre postures.) And over it all hovers the beautiful prospect of the finish of the book.

The universe is waiting for me to see it, to experience it, to write it. What I seek to return to is what many other, saner folks would run from. The retreat from the demands of reality will mark my final return to the real world. Writing is the gift I am looking to give myself again.

Lynn is back.

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