By choice, we have loaded everything we use, need, or want into boxes. Then we apparently gave those boxes to gypsies who traipsed across the nation with them. That is why I crack eggs into an empty yogurt container, stir them with a toothpick, and serve them to my son on a napkin. Then I write a note to the teacher asking her to please accept Drake's homework even though it is written on the back of an envelope that came in the mail that morning. The college-ruled paper is with the gypsies.
The past three weeks have been stuffed to the brim with transforming the house we bought into something humans would live in. Because I was in shock that we were spontaneously moving, I didn't take enough before pictures, but, let me tell you, the place needed work. It was a vacant foreclosure, so you can imagine the condition we found it in. I don't know who would buy a place like that.
The hard wood floor was installed by three guys who can nail wood to a floor as fast as a woodpecker. They utterly transformed my house in two days. When standing in the loft taking this picture, I noticed what a disaster the kitchen had become, and I wondered again why we had decided to do this crazy thing.
Then I went home and slept it off. When I returned the next day, my floors looked shiny and perfect and all was right in the world.
Still, I wonder if the gypsies would take me with them.
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