I have nothing to say right now.
This past weekend, Alli and I moved out of the apartment we’d lived in for four years and into a (rented) house.
It’s a split level with a decent backyard featuring the remains of a garden and an unoccupied – but inviting – chicken coop. We’re sharing the place with another couple. So far, we haven’t killed each other and we’ve figured out which cutting boards we’re using. I think things are off to a decent start.
I’d planned to write today’s email this morning, sitting in my new office space at my old desk, ideally with only a few odds and ends left to unpack.
As it turns out I’m writing this from a folding chair surrounded by boxes filled with things I need but can’t find. My old desk fell to smithereens during the move. It was an Ikea piece; now it’s about 37 separate pieces. Also, the cleaning I thought I could finish on Sunday will not be finished by Monday. It will be finished tomorrow, though, because it has to be. Our lease at the old place is up after that.
We found the coffee machine, don’t worry.
I don’t mean to complain, though. Life is actually really good.
Okay. I’ll wrap this up by saying that I have nothing to say. I’ve typed the words above for the sole purpose of landing in your inbox, so that at the end of the year I can brag that I sent a newsletter for 52 weeks straight.
