I Sing the Body Electric

 Ray Bradbury, God rest his soul, is an inspiration.  His book "Zen in the Art of Writing" describes his creative process as, each morning he wakes up and steps on a landmine.  "That landmine is me.  I spend the rest of the day putting myself back together."

My house (apartment), ever indicative of the status of my life, has stepped on a landmine.  But I'm finally putting myself back together.

In preparation for our next big adventure, we are selling and gifting possessions like never before.  The closet that had become so full you didn't dare enter it without the light on is now starting to echo when I walk into it.  The dining room is piled high with things waiting to be photographed for our virtual yard sale.  (Yes, I could do classes on virtual yard sales, too.  No arrows required.)

My office is in shambles, with documents waiting to be sorted, waiting to be scanned, and the trepidatious growing stack of documents waiting to be shredded that daily thank their lucky stars for my procrastination.  (I tell them it won't hurt.  They don't believe me.  And neither should you.)

When all's said and done, the apartment will most likely look like a nicely furnished apartment or hotel room.  (Sans the maid service.  Damn.)

Don't even get me started on what's changed in the food department.

For now, I leave you in the hands of Weird Al and your wonderful imaginations: