All of my crap is now in Mr. B's house. Every last scrap. The best part is that I'm not even there to watch; Mr. B graciously volunteered his vacation time to supervise the movers. I'll get home tonight and voilà! There it will be. Fin.
Even though I've been living there for two months, completing this final stage still feels like A Big Deal. After all, it's been over thirty years since I moved in with a boy. It means something; something significant. I'm sure as hell not moving again for a long, long time, so it's looking like I'm committed to this thing.
Scary, no?
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The sofa?
ReplyDeleteGarage, for now. :)
ReplyDeleteWhy congratulations!! I go out of town for a few days and look what happens! : ) And in answer to your comment today ... no I cannot imagine my right arm moving AT ALL the way my left one had to on the zip line. Ugh!
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