An eloquent essay on poverty and paying it forward made me realize that it's three years next Wednesday since the horrible day when the iMac got Raptured up. Looking back on those entries (and I've never been one to keep up with a journal until LJ came along, so it's unusual and nifty to me to have that record preserved), I don't know that I could have foreseen that we'd ever manage to dig out of that hole, much less convince somebody to give us a mortgage. So I suppose I'm saying, things can change, never let hope die, and the internets are the greatest invention since fire, goddammit, and I love all of you out there even the ones I haven't met yet. Except maybe the Creepy Guy, but heck, we're all the Creepy Guy sometimes, huh? Movers are coming in 32 hours, so if I don't get to post again before then, remember I'll be thinking of y'all while Gaius is tucked away in his hypersleep capsule...
(Mum has finally gotten around to mucking out packing her Artwork Storage. Have pointed out that she does have to go to work in the morning, to which she responded, "I know -- I'm trying to find my BED!!")
T minus 16 hours to movers and Cousin-with-Truck has finally turned up, revealing that as one might predict from knowing anyone in this family, she was also at IKEA at the appointed time on Tuesday, but the book with Mum's cel# was sitting beside the phone at home. Why neither of us thought to try to have the other paged, Idunno. So the matter of hauling away the dollhouse is apparently settled once again, although it would have been so much nicer to have had the volume of space it occupies free to stack boxes into over the last few days. Mum now running about frantically stuffing random things into any boxes that don't run away fast enough.
For myself, I blew this last full day in the Craphole by going out to the big yarn trade-show in Rosemont, because one simply cannot miss big yarn trade-shows even if it means cramming it into an already impossible schedule. And I would like to know, just on general principles, why must it take longer to get from Morse to Rosemont on the El than it does to drive up to Milwaukee...? Thoroughly exhausted, and rather nonplussed by the additional hassle of Body having gotten confused about the dress-rehearsal for "Moving Insanity Theater" and turning up prepared to read from "When Boobies Attack" instead. Yes, I know it's almost inevitable that the plumbing would think it was being witty, but damn, I already had a backache. Need sleep, not going to get much...
For myself, I blew this last full day in the Craphole by going out to the big yarn trade-show in Rosemont, because one simply cannot miss big yarn trade-shows even if it means cramming it into an already impossible schedule. And I would like to know, just on general principles, why must it take longer to get from Morse to Rosemont on the El than it does to drive up to Milwaukee...? Thoroughly exhausted, and rather nonplussed by the additional hassle of Body having gotten confused about the dress-rehearsal for "Moving Insanity Theater" and turning up prepared to read from "When Boobies Attack" instead. Yes, I know it's almost inevitable that the plumbing would think it was being witty, but damn, I already had a backache. Need sleep, not going to get much...
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