The stitches are out.

My kindhearted former roommate LEW played Florence Nightingale one night early on and swabbed the wound with peroxide & neosporin after removing the first bandage. I have dermatitis (a rash!) from a band-aid. The scar still itches.

I moved in with ERB earlier this week. My movers were amazing. A three man crew arrived at 9:15 a.m. on Monday and helped me finish packing, loading the truck all the while. They were professional, friendly and efficient. Nothing was damaged or mislaid. They even finished a half-hour earlier than estimated. I nearly swooned at the ease of it all. To self-move again: nevermore.

I know where the yarn & supplies box (okay, boxes) are. I can't get to them. I only have the computer set up because ERB applied his workaholic tendencies to the home. We have curtains up, door stops installed, glides on bed legs, working light fixtures (new ones over the kitchen counter!), and nicely arranged furniture. We do have one room with a waist-high double-deep wall of boxes, but the rest of the apartment is gloriously livable. Now we need to decide where the art hangs on the walls. And I have to learn the light switches. The dog is freaked out by the hardwood floors, having lived his indoor life thus far on carpet. I think I know how he feels.