MovingI can find only one of my new running shoes.

When I go to eat lunch, I have plates but no silverware, oregano but no salt.

And I have one pair of contacts to my name… somewhere. I lost them three days ago.

Avenue Z Writing Solutions is moving, and my life is upside down. My new apartment is a half a block away, and I’m doubling my space and establishing a real office for my freelance copywriting business. I’m so very, very excited.

But at the same time, I’m completely frazzled. My computer is still here at the old apartment, but most of my clothes are across the street. And I’ve got some things at D.J.’s house, but not enough to put together a full, publicly acceptable outfit. Yesterday I found an clean athletic bra that had fallen behind my bed in the old apartment, and you could read “Spalding” through my t-shirt. The day before I wore D.J.’s socks home. Things are a mess.

Today, though, should be the full transition. I’m hiring Zaque from my favorite coffee shop to come over and help with the move, and D.J. is bringing his truck. I’m in less than 400 square feet of apartment space here, so there’s really not that much to move. And I’ve been moving all week: one box at a time. No, really. I’ve had one box. I fill it, walk across the street, empty it and come back. As you can imagine, this is not terribly effective.

But tonight I’ll sleep in my own bed with clean sheets and a slightly agitated cat. And I’ll get up in the morning and look in my empty fridge and sigh, “There’s no place like home.”