Technically moving is just one step in the game.
Molding your space into a home beyond the presence of furniture and food is the next step-- and the one we never schedule the time for.
Life, as always, is getting a little in the way of this.
So I write poems using magnetic words on my fridge between struggling, full-armed down the stairs to the storage locker and frantically editing a manuscript within the 36 hour time period my supervisor's "URGENT" email allotted me.
These poems are my efforts to make this place a home, squeezed between the rest of life.
I'm still sadly absent from your side of bloggie land, I know. Soon, soon, soon.