I am Here.
And I am freaking out. My stuff is supposed to get here Saturday. I don’t think there’s any way my piano or my loveseat, which are rigid objects in funny shapes, are going to fit in this elevator. But I’ll wait. And I’ll let the professionals figure it out. But I can’t seem to stop panicking.
My friend convinced me to keep my car for another couple of days to go shopping. So I’m going to do that. I am highly, highly stressed with little or no proper outlet. But I slept last night. Mostly.
Why don’t I play the violin?