Dear Internet,
As the deadlines whoosh and bang overhead, and the constant stutter of distant keyboards echoes around the trench office, and the staccato bonging of incoming instant messages tells me there are fresh dispatches from The Northern Front, I would like to take this brief, lunch-hour opportunity to write and say hello.
*Hunkers down, licks end of pencil, shudders as an especially loud deadline explodes nearby*
Things are...busy.
From the War Room last night as Krissa, her Dad and I planned the coming battle, after a wonderful Mother's Day -Krissa's Mom had head on back to Rhode Island to make us some fabulous blinds for the new place - it struck me just how much we had to do. And I was sitting there thinking, oh god, I'm going to be in the office (The Southern Front) while most of this work is going on. And I felt guilty, but I also felt relieved - because I am at heart a lazy arse who doesn't deserve his industrious wife - I felt relieved that this monstrous task ofpacking up everything we own wouldn't happen on my watch.
Faced with the deadlines of the Southern Front, all I'm wishing is that I was at home, packing books and CDs, and by the sounds of things, experiencing something not unlike this.
Forgive me my weakness, Internet.
Love and Kisses,
The Corinthians
Stuart
Bonging? Sounds either rude or illicit.
This sounds a lot like my moving experience in 2005 when my girlfriend and I bought our house. I spent the summer hunkered down in denial, at the expense and the effort.
When my wife & I moved back in '01, we sent our daughter to stay with relatives (smart idea) and had a bunch of musician friends come help pack, lift, and carry (dumb idea).
Didn't stop to think what we'd do when 3 PM rolled around and they all left for their gigs...