I was literally sitting down to type out a few words on the current situation — two days from moving, literally living out of boxes, eating off paper plates and bed in the middle of the living room floor — when we got the call.
After two delays of almost a week apiece, we’re delayed again. Indefinitely, at the moment.
It’s a source of great shame that despite the summer and the great heaping piles of free time, I’ve gotten next to no writing done. This is the reason. My daily ration of fargos is going straight into the ever-deepening stress pit that this move has become. Or at this point, the lack of move. My brain is shot. The wheels have come off. The ship’s run aground.
I keep thinking that if I were a believing man, this would be a sure sign that the almighty were trying to steer us away from this particular course; that there’s something wrong with the course we were on. But then I remind myself that if the almighty were involved, we wouldn’t have found ourselves on this path to begin with. Things don’t always mean things. This is just some really, truly, deeply, unfortunate luck. (And almost certainly some heinous idiocy if not incompetence at several stages.)
Can’t quite share details, because this is all still in the air. But once things are settled, oh sweet fancy Moses, do I have words. At any rate, to my regular readers, I apologize for the lack of material and my general absence. We will restore normality as soon as we are sure what is normal anyway.