Evenings after work this week, we’ve been going by the condo, loading up a couple of boxes at a time. There’s less to move now than there was a little over a year ago: I’ve purged, I’ve stored, and I’ve flat out failed to unpack.

The Mc has been attempting to prepare for my official arrival, and I’m attempting to adjust to being officially arrived. It’s a lovely home associated with an address that we in the Hot Hot would call OTP (with a hint of distain). I am not an OTPer by nature, but the commute isn’t all bad, I’ve made some great new friends out this way, the man is spectacular and sometimes you have to sing the Facts of Life theme song in your head and let it all shake out the way it will.

Cramps are threatening in the form of an extraordinarily uncomfortable lower back, my workload hasn’t slacked to make way for the distraction the move should be and through it all my gimpy finger and I are coming to terms with one another.

Evolution.

Wish me luck.