Am I back? Maybe, maybe not. In earlier posts I chronicled the first stages of my move after over 4 decades in one place. After finding a new place and going through all the absurd hoops to get there, I arranged for an overlap of a month, paying rent on both places. After giving away literal tons of stuff to Goodwill, over a thousand rubber stamps to two local schools along with assorted art supplies, I got help from some neighbors selling a lot of the stuff that was marketable like an antique desk from Sharon’s grandfather that we never used but never had the heart to get rid of, my apartment-sized washer/dryer, garden decorations, and outdoor sheds. Then I had to unscrew the 15 bookshelves & cabinets that we had added to the walls to store all the things I was trying to dispose of.
That and moving the things to my new place that I need/want to keep with a little help from my friends, left my septuagenarian carcass totally spent. Despite all my efforts that still left enough for me to have to pay for 5 truckloads of junk removal. I just didn’t have it in me to go through the stuff and distribute what was left that was useful. The first two weeks of October were spent trying to change my address with the Post Office, the government, my banks and credit card companies, my insurers, and everybody else I could think of. At least the government found me. I got my jury duty notice for next week at my new address. Sigh.
That brings me to last Wednesday. I was sitting in my favorite chair, watching TV in my 3rd (top) floor apartment when a drop of water splashed on my forehead. Did I think to bring any of my 5 plastic buckets and pack them away in some unpacked box, or did I just let them all go in the move? If I kept one, I couldn’t find it, but, no matter, I had emptied at least 6 plastic bins full of DVDs a few days before, so that’s what I used. Turns out there’s a drain on the roof exactly over my living room, and it’s drainage pipe had sprung a leak. So, since last Thursday I’ve been living with a 5 foot cube of plastic tenting, taped to the ceiling and floor.
Just what I needed, more chaos. Then there was the industrial dehumidifier that they kept running from Thursday morning until Monday morning. Not quite as bad as living in a computer server room, just a constant dull background thrumming. At least the bedroom was quiet enough. Now the dehumidifier is off, but the tent remains until they come Friday to re-drywall the ceiling.
Meanwhile I’m getting ready to head to Tucson on the 13th for TusCon 53, then LA on the night of Thanksgiving for LosCon. Ordered a bunch of paperbacks to take with me, that may or may not arrive in time for TusCon.
So to answer the question I opened with, today I’m writing and posting something to the website. That would be this. Tomorrow, I plan on restarting on Hermit & Vulture: The Comic Book That Isn’t. The next novel will have to wait until December, although that may get interrupted if the group of young film-makers I met with last night wants me to turn one of my short stories into a screenplay. Who says retirement is dull?
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