Forgive me, gentle readers. I have been remiss in contacting you the last few days. I have been quite distracted the last few days.

Reggie, his twin sister Regina, Abdul and whatever that Romanian’s name was helped me out, big time, in relocating from Tunnel Eight to the new digs.

I made twenty-five or more trips between the two units with the Old Lady’s cart, hauling stuff that Regina had not wrapped and packed within an inch of its life, and the husky young men from the District, Sierra Leone and some coastal village in the former East Bloc hauled the heavy crap that I cannot manage. By the time Santosh from Verizon left early this afternoon, my life had been transformed.

I cannot fail to mention Grant, the Realtor, nor the able assistance of Jeff-the-Closer at the title company to get me out from under that gawd-awful sea anchor of a mortgage, and cut my losses on the property I purchased at the very tip-top of the housing bubble, afraid that I would never be able to afford my own home again.

So, as of yesterday about noon, I was a renter again, in a smaller place. I have a load of crap to take to Refuge Farm, and a requirement to be in St. Louis on Monday, but hell, I am moved and I have Internet connectivity. Life is good.

Check it out:

The view from the dining room. The automatic garage doors made a sound like growling beasts. It was a little disconcerting until I figured out what it was.

It is much smaller than Tunnel Eight, but it seems larger with less crap in it.

FMOC. Full Operational Capability.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twittter @jayare303