I am in the new house. Well, not this minute, clearly, as explained above. And it's really quite ok. I LIKE it. I spent yesterday evening wandering around, bathed in a warm salmony glow from the walls, followed by the weepette, who is not coping quite as well as I am with the move and will not leave my side for a second, but patters next to me from the loo to the Ektorp to the kitchen, his protuberant anxious eyes fixed on me, feebly whining.
The house now contains a babyfoot table as well as a large floor cushion and the Ektorp. I am tempted to just stop there, and bask in the minimalist joy of living a 19 year old boy's fantasy life (well, ok, I don't have enough video games, food, or pornography probably, but you know what I mean). As soon as you start noticing what's missing you could be stuck furnishing for ever - dustpans and brooms and dishwasher product and god only knows what else. Why bother? It will all creep in soon enough. Stuff has a habit of doing that.
It's too early to really miss the boys. This is a hiatus. It'll get hard once they've spent a week with me and I have to part with them again. Hard for me, just as hard for them, probably equally hard for the CFO dealing with the fallout. I remember myself how hard those transitions were, and for me it was only ever weekends and holidays.
For now, though, it's peaceful in the house, and lively when I go out, which is blissful. When I walked the dog at seven this morning, there were PEOPLE in the street and SHOPS OPENING. Shops! Excuse the caps, but after three years in Belgium, I thought I might never see the like of this again. The Italian deli down the road is open late, and the Pain Quotidien opens at 7. I love it. I may never cook again, which will be an immense relief for all concerned.
Tomorrow I go back to pack up, and on Thursday the removal men come. But it's ok. I hope it stays ok. I hope, perhaps tomorrow, to get enough wifi to write something that doesn't read like a slightly stilted postcard. Maybe even do some pictures. It's been ages since we had an visual light relief on these pages, other than owls (I'm not knocking the owls. I wouldn't dare knock the owls). I hope, when I get home - yes, home - the dog hasn't eaten all my shoes and crapped on my bed. I hope the boys are ok, I hope the CFO is ok. I'm keeping everything crossed, and eating ice cream and brownies for dinner. It's a start.