Fear and Loathing

I drafted a letter to the landlord to say we're moving out in thirty days.

I finished the paperwork to board the cats and sent in my deposit.

I helped Jer pack another two boxes.

Three and a half weeks from now, we move. This weekend we fly up and find an apartment.

Here are some bigger things we're selling. It's all very reasonably priced, but you have to pick it up yourself. My email address is at the bottom of the page if you're interested.

I found my sunglasses in the back of Jer's car. The day is redeemed.

And I am no longer hungover. Three cheers for sobriety.

There is nothing much snarky to say. Everything is so serious that it's funny. All the time funny. And I am having vivid dreams about chains and drowning sweetly. And all the faces I have ever seen are super-imposed on one another, saying words I can't remember and don't understand for all the clatter. What would Freud say? Nothing I'd wager, if I hid his nose candy, the irascible old fool.