Tomorrow I will have an address and it will be official.
My landlord's contractors are moving me into me into my new place. I met the mover today and noted my knees are shot. The boss is a gracious guy who said, "We'll carry the boxes -- your only job is to point."
I can do that.
This will be the last of homelessness, I hope and suspect, well into the future.
I'm working on a plan where in five years, I'll buy a plot of land and in another five years I'll buy one of those tiny homes and build on that plot. And when I have the opportunity to retire, probably about age 70, I'll have my own place in the Northwoods.
That means if you come to visit, bring a tent. I'll provide copious food and drink. And on the upside, you won't have to listen to me snore -- which by that time will sound like a T-Rex chewing glass.
I've noted earlier I'm going to unpack like a fiend. That means chaos in the short term but the sooner I can get to cooking for myself and friends every night, I will be pleased. The sooner I can get my desktop and laptop, the more I can work on serious writing projects. As soon as I can get a grill, the more carcinogens I can swallow (please pronounce "swaller").
I imagine Saturday night I will remain at the Steakhouse & Lodge as I'll need Sunday to set the place up for basic living.
As someone who's moved much, the first thing I'll get tomorrow is a shower curtain and a towel. I learned that lesson moving from Beaver Dam to Wisconsin Rapids in 1992. I already have a box of other essentials like paper towels, paper plates, plasticware and garbage bags.
After about 25 moves, I've become a pro.
Finally, I can check out normalcy for a while. Full transparency: I'm not normal.
But I can make soup, grill some brats or steak, hell, I can make a crappy frozen pizza in my oven.
Peace unto Ukraine and peace and frozen pizza unto all of you my brothers and sisters.