almost there

Almost there: the last day of classes is tomorrow. Then a weekend blitz of grading and making grade sheets and filling in everything except the final grades. Then one last meeting. Then some numbers.

Then I bring home the office plant and lock the place up and don't set foot in it until late, late August. In the meantime, I will be engaging in heavy reading and getting healthy, by which I mean I will read only Gawker and eat Blizzards every single day.

*

Almost there: our possessions are once again under the same roof. The B has tied off his Wisconsin existence and I have, for the first time in months, a couch (two, actually) to sit upon and a bed that does not fold back into the wall.

That man has driven from Wisconsin to GRR three times in two weeks, once in a UHaul with no cruise control. Plus he spent the last three days on the phone with the cable company, trying to get the Internet to work. Bring him a Blizzard too.

The new place is big, so big. The ceilings are very tall and make all of our furniture and decorative items appear puny. But there is a deep tub and a dining room, a teensy kitchen with storage for exactly two pots and three plates, a closet that holds all of our books, a living room filled with cast-off chairs waiting to be occupied by people drinking bourbon and listening to records, a set of panel doors, a red bedroom, a sunporch filled with poetry books and natural light, and a green backyard complete with blooming irises.

It's not quite finished: there are some curtains to be hung and pillows to make and cables to snake, the better to make use of what limited counter space we do have. But that can all wait until after the class is finished and P comes through town and the first reading of the new series and the Canada-Buffalo-North Carolina road trip go down. Normally this would drive me nuts. After two weeks of packing and moving, however, to say nothing of the cleaning of three apartments ... I just want to sit on the 1970s couch or chair of my choosing and drink a Molson. Or twelve.