I’m sitting in the basement of my old house (the one I don’t own anymore) and writing this on my sleeping bag. The upstairs bedrooms are empty. The living room is dark and quiet. The kitchen is a mess of empty boxes, garbage bags, phone cords, and paperwork—the stack of operating instructions for all the appliances in here—and stuff waiting to go in boxes. The basement is empty except for my tools, bikes, and the IKEA TV stand we forgot to throw on the truck today.

The move itself was a great success. We got the truck out front by 8:30 and within 15 minutes about ten friends showed up to help; With their combined effort we had the truck packed by 11:30 and parked at Jen’s by 1. To everybody who showed up to help, THANK YOU. You’re the best.

Not having anything else to do this afternoon, Jen and I wandered around Columbia and got some dinner. We’re both in limbo, waiting for the signing on the new house tomorrow, and it’s nerve-wracking and frustrating all at the same time. I’m personally cycling through the emotions of terror, sadness, fear, elation, and worry in fifteen-minute increments. Currently, I’m excited to finally get into this new house. Check back with me tomorrow, however; I may be back to terror.

A couple of good things to look forward to, though; The pile of brush and wood blocking the left side of the driveway is gone (thank you). There’s a coffee shop right down the road in town, next to an Italian restaurant, and across from the old 812 Club (now called something like the Ship’s Inn or some such nautical theme) with a decent crabcake and outside seating. There’s a beautiful huge baseball diamond behind the school across the street, perfect for a frisbee dog. There’s the Catonsville Library across and down the street, which should have good historical information on our house and neighborhoood. And there’s the magnolia tree growing slowly in the front yard of the house—a good omen.