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Language Log

Sunday, Jul. 17, 2011 - 6:36 a.m.

The movers are coming tomorrow morning. TOMORROW MORNING. It feels like a freight train barrelling down upon me.

I'm working on the computer desk now.
You get to a strata of stuff that...well, what to do with it? Foreign coins, hair ties, a 30-sided die, jewelry that didn't make it into the box with the other jewelry. Paperclips. Lots and lots of paperclips. Small glass bees.

Taking the cats to the kennel today. It'll be nice not to have to clean cat shit off the floor for a few days.

We're also in the giving-away-of-liquor-and-food stage. I wanted to offer some to my photographer friend, but last time I saw her she told me her husband was an alcoholic and joked about being one herself, so I just don't know. I hate it when people who just enjoy drinking often make jokes about being alcoholics. I don't think she was joking about her husband, but I couldn't tell about her. No booze for them, anyway.

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