. . . for things not being the same always. You know. I’m sure there is one. Isn’t there? There must be a word for it … the thing that lets you know time is happening. Is there a word?
Change.
So, it’s the last weekend at Jackson Street. Our lives, about seventy five per-cent of them anyway, have been stored inside boxes, which are in turn stored in the living room. Getting from the bedroom to the toilet can be a challenge. This morning, I was so exhausted after taking Natania to work, that instead of wading through the dreck and back into the bedroom, I just crashed on the couch.
Created three CDs this week at work, for various companies. They’re all benefits packages in digital format. It really wiped me out, and while I enjoy playing with Flash in creative, artistic fashions, using it in conjunction with the phrases “Accidental Death and Dismemberment” and “Dental” usually doesn’t result in fun.
If you want to help us move, we’ll give you free pizza and beer. Seriously. We need all the help we can get. Geoff/Ian is coming back to the Carolinas (and will be helping us move), after bouts with tuberculosis and academia. I am looking forward to seeing him, and am glad he is still with us, and also not coughing up blood any longer. Realising that advertising the presence of a consumptive at our move-in is not the best way to attract assistance, I’ll reiterate: free pizza and beer.
The next time I post, it’ll probably be from the new place. Hooray!
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