I am still alive, and am really just writing to say that I will actually be writing actual prose next week, when things have calmed down considerably for me. Lots of stuff going on, but I think - though not completely sure just yet - that J and I now know where we will be living in a month (spoiler alert: right here), and what jobs we will have, and what graduate schools we will attend. For a hot second there, everything was a mess (in a delightful way) and we were writing out budgets and pros and cons lists and fixing closets and throwing out lots of junk and freaking out because we just got the most glorious granite counter tops. Were we ready to part from the granite so soon?
(And in the midst of all this, whilst still traveling and getting stuck in Syracuse last Friday night, I picked up a copy of Jodi Picoult's latest novel, Nineteen Minutes. And then I could. Not. Put. It. Down. Please someone: tell me you have read this book so we can all nerd up in this very forum and get down to the virtual book club I have secretly longed for! Pretty please?)
(And I also learned that Rent is closing on Broadway. As a former Renthead, this news did not sit well, and I have been hatching plans to get back to the Nederlander ever since.)
In closing: I'm back, baby. With lots of stories to tell and a renewed commitment to you, gentle readers.