Many weeks ago, I updated with a little bitty post consisting of, “Oh my god, my stuff! My stuff! Where is my stuff?”
On the five week anniversary of the company taking my stuff, and the three week anniversary of it being past due, my belongings completed The Fellowship of The Things, having crossed the Canadian version of Mount Doom and apparently dropping my tea pot’s leaf basket into what passes for Mordor around here before making their collective jumbled way to me. (I probably woke up at night screaming MY PRECIOUS when it happened.) It’s all Hobbits crying and jumping on beds now — because let me tell you, five weeks on an air mattress tests patience and backs alike.
Everything is at last here, everything has survived, including the Beast, the iMac I veiled in an entire role of anti-static bubble wrap, pillows and polar fleece blankets. And I’m surviving. Everything’s not in place yet, and better posts are forthcoming. But for now, I am snugged in my flannel sheets in my very own bed, surrounded by my books and my tchotchkes.
That will do for now.