soon

sitting in the chaos of boxes and crap

the bastard thinks that a life of tumult is the life for he.

we had a massive upheaval last week in the office that I can't talk about right now.

but, it made me very aware of my place in this world.

it also made me grateful for my place in the world.

my place of tumult

in a sea of boxes

in the dark

waiting for to go.

to go across the river towards home.

my new home

my old home.

across the river.

getting close.

the bastard has never been all that grateful. but it's time for a change.

thank you.

you know who you are.

—the bastard

i get along

last night it rained like the hammers of hell out.

and it made for a cabin feverish saturday

today was much nicer

went out to find out that the strand only buys back books on every day BUT Sunday.

the wife makes the nice suggestion that we drop them during the week when it's nice out.

you see, it was a hahd winter so, the presence of sunlight and heatwaves in the 50's have inspired us to wolf down our dinners and out the bebe in a stroller and look across the river at our future.


which brings me to the other side of the river.

went to the build today to measure the closets.

the wife wants to have a California closet style closet only without the $10,000 price tag.

and much to the bastard's surprise, we have a refrigerator.

we've been in the special bonus 3 month long closing process that was Taylor made for my tolerance level and we haven't had a fridge in the model we're buying until today.

or Wednesday

or whenever the hell they got the damn delivery.

it makes everything a little more real.

the kind of real I can come to like.

not like that "fake" real I wake up with in the middle of the night when the voices come.

—the bastard

countdown…

t minus… who the hell even knows.

regularly, the wife im's me with some new fresh hell that cokes attached to the home buying process.

the mortgage broker is wound up all kinds of tight.

too tight for her taste. and we're both tightly wound.

but it's like the death of a thousand cuts except they remove information from the flesh of our paperwork and them come back with questions.

apparently because my evil ant overlords have changed payroll companies two or three times, he cannot divine that I have held down this job since 2002.

umm your husband has been part of evil ant publishing since 2009.

between the understanding gap and the tense, it isn't what a bastard could call fun.

don't get me wrong.

the ends totally justify the means, it's just short term annoying.

…end rant here…

—the bastard

closing in…

the wife had kindly asked the bastard to keep his yap shut about our home buying nightmare.

as the daughter of superstition, she doesn't want to jinx shit.

but she married jinx incarnate.

so a bastard can't help himself.

as I sit here rockin a coffee on the f train I tell you that the search is coming to a close soon.

this will no doubt lead to our next big heart attack.

which is the buying

the moving

the packing

the unpacking

and the frikkin job keeping too.

this economy hangs like the sword of damacles which leaves the bastard glad for the hunting and fishing populace of flyover country as well as the tobacco hawking creators of velveeta which keep us employed.

at least the anticipation keeps it inneresting while it slowly kills me.

—the bastard

…long weekend

the bastard is bogging

late brekky with my sister and brother in law makes for lead weight in my stomach.

I'm digesting other things too.

the home buying nightmare is nightmare.

the bastard looks forward to a time down the road when Sunday is a day in which he doesn't roll out of bed to go to open house hell.

someday soon because our own closing looms large like the sword of damacles.

—the bastard

crack in the armor

so we're finally taking the plunge.

looking for a new place in earnest.

and today couldn't have been a worse house hunting day.

the lic wasn't wearing it's best face.

and the open houses were wack.

I hope shit works out. or perhaps it's gonna be Brooklyn where the bastard lays his head for the next 10 years.

work with me queens.

—the bastard