I talked about running live a while ago, and it, along with the domestication of the dog, continues unabated.

The reasons are good, though. There’s the female contingent… which again, is baffling. Why should I deserve any attention?

The bigger time suck, though, is (drumroll)… that I took back my fire-bombed apartment late last week. Which, if you do the math, means I moved back into my apartment exactly 4 months to the day since my apartment burned down.

4 months of only a skeleton-crew of possessions.
4 months of only scattered knowledge of popular culture due to no TV or radio.
4 months of wanting to do or reference something and remembering that oh yes, that thing I needed had actually cooked.
4 months of my life on hold.

Granted, it’s not over, yet. I still need to move in and sort a lot of my stuff that remains in my garage, covered in soot and possible ruined. What little stuff that could be rescued will be arriving back from my insurance company next week, and then there’s the shopping… oh, the shopping. Nevertheless, at least there’s progress, and at least I’m no longer transient. Even if I do still have little more than a bed and a chair.

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