We have a tentative sale for the house. Things can always change and if conditions are not met the house will not be sold, but right now, we have an offer, we have accepted, and we have a date to work towards.

February 1st, 2010.

It’s both too far away and too close. So much to do. Not sure if we will keep showing the house during this next week or so. We might be. I don’t know. I think we talked about it but it’s such a blur right now. Everything’s all running together.

I’m supposed to be excited.

Yeah. About that.

I have about a month and a half. Not sure how things will work on first of February. We have to be out, we have to be settled, but will I have the apartment ready? Nothing will be ready. Living out of boxes labeled with black marker. Missing simple, stupid things, like hair ties and toothpaste and slipper socks. Making do with what’s at hand, like you’re trying out for the poor man’s MacGyver. Learning all the new ticks of a new apartment, the sounds of the pipes, the texture of the floor, the angles and the places where your elbow will bounce and your toe will stub.

The cat will be interesting. He’s been to the place where my apartment is, but not the apartment itself. Not sure how he’s going to handle things. He may be lonely. (Metaphor much?) I’ve toyed with the idea of another cat, but not right away. There is a cat upstairs that may provide all the extra entertainment he can handle.

Not that any of this has anything to do with writing.

Last night was somewhat productive. I’ve discovered that doing prep work away from home is a little challenging, because invariably I don’t have the ability to lug around the books I want to use while I’m world building. Still, I managed to free-write what I remember of the first six chapters or so. (Why is it always six chapters?) I haven’t yet re-started the actual draft. Well, except for the first line, “She ran.” Bit of a cheat, really, but at least it’s a start.

I have the weekend ahead of me. Turning inward, working on my own little projects and the novel will be one of them.

Still looking for some joie de vive, though. If you have any to spare . . .


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