I have not been sitting down to type either; I have been working. Today the man comes to measure our house for all-new carpet, and we are not at all packed and ready for that one, let me tell you. We have painted over the walls of the fourth bedroom; we have raked out the seeming-miles of front flower beds, heretofore neglected for two years; we have laid down eleven bags of mulch thus far on the aforementioned flowerbeds; we have enlisted broken_onewon1 to prune our trees and tear up the back garden and my father to dispose of the resulting sacks of branches. We have cleaned and packed and shopped and O, Best Beloved, there is so much work to be done. This is not like me, to neglect you for so long.
I will, perhaps, have to set aside time to pour things out of my mind because they are certainly stirring in there. And I feel a certain sense of guilt for leaving them for so long; they have begun to gather dust and they iwll never be the same again.
It is going to be a long and miserable week, if the carpet-layers come and lay carpet this week. I believe I will need some solace.
I will also need volunteers to help move furniture and belongings from one room to the next. Any takers?