I have been overly publicly grateful. I have unpacked many boxes. I have still not found the screws to put the desk together, even though they were on the china cabinet and I grabbed them specifically and put them ... somewhere? ...
The kittens are racing each other from one end of the apartment to the other. There is enough hallway that they don't even have to start at the far end to get going at break neck speeds. The kittens sleep on me. And when I say "on me" I am speaking literally. There is no cuddling on the side. There is lying on my hair, my arm, my leg, my face at times. Ethel is small enough that she can curl up around my skull and until I move in an unfortunate way and receive small claws in my scalp, I don't even know that she's there.
The books are entirely unpacked. They are oddly shelved, but I will have plenty of time and space for cataloging and re-organizing. I am thinking of grouping the craft and needlework books together, the cookbooks together and the dress-up books together, lined up by size, of course. As for the others, I am seriously considering putting them in order by date of acquisition. Which means that I get to keep most of the very fragile children's books in the front room and relegate the ever more trashed trade books to the sort of non-room-place. I really need to come up with something to call that room. It has a purpose, but who wants to take people a tour of their apartment and have the second room people walk through to be "the place where I keep everything I can't find any other place for. And my closet." My One Closet. And the track lighting. I may move something else in there at some point. Definitely not a sitting room. Too many mirrors. Ug.
The kitchen is completely fun and fits me well.
I've just had news that someone relatively unconnected to me has passed away. That seems a very cold sentiment and why should it matter, but it does. He was the husband to someone for whom I care very much. He has been in a vegetative state for more than a decade. Their two children have grown up without him and now have a good male role model who loves their mother very much. Their mother has struggled and, like most of us who can only handle the struggle for so long, has found happiness and has raised children who are enjoyable and intelligent and completely wacky people. I like them very much. She has no idea how she could have raised them to be so utterly un-screwed up. Her utter confusion is wonderful to watch. I send good thoughts to them and to the family of the man who has passed away. I know that it cannot be an easy thing to watch someone deteriorate slowly and feel totally powerless to stop it or to stop whatever suffering may come with it without ending that person's life totally. From what I understand, his body stopped on its own. He was ready to go.
It all does go away eventually. If you let it. The pain, the ecstasy, the frustration, the confusion. If you let it go - it leaves. I have what is occasionally an unpardonably long memory, and occasionally it is unpardonably short. There are some emotions that will allow me to forget that I have been treated with uncommon kindness or uncommon disrespect. There are head spaces which do not always allow me to be as aware of my surroundings and their impact on me as I would like. I imagine it is similar for most people.
Last evening I read poetry for the first time in ages. Read the same poem three times for the joy of it.
Been finding little bits of my past lying about in boxes. I have been putting them on my refrigerator (which is HUGE) just because they make me happy.
The move was good. Having people over to help me get started unpacking was good.
My phantom appendix does not want me to sleep on my left side right now, but that is an acceptable price to pay, I think.
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