Well, the desk.
It is going to be dismantled and flat-packed and put on a ship.
It is a computer desk, but it is cherry wood and black metal, and altogether too gorgeous to sell, and it has been mine for the last ten years, and I can't part with it. So, seeing as it looks like the freecycling and the donations and the sales have paid off -- and we have less stuff that we expected (!!! How often does that happen? I still don't quite believe it - and I fully expect that... stuff is somewhere quietly mating in a corner and will produce prolific and oddly shaped offspring quite shortly), the desk can come too. So I will be wrapping it and padding it and crossing my fingers against additional scratches, and then it will go. And I will be posting from... the lovely bamboo floor. (Ow.)
This bright and early Sunday morning, don't miss the return of Eisha and learn the phrase 'Special Forces Moving Co.' Do you not want the special forces to come for your next move? I imagine people parachuting from the sky, rappelling down the edges of our roof, landing in groups of four, immediately wrapping, crating, taping, and sanitizing things, wearing mirrored sunglasses, communicating with hand motions, sharp nods, and little bursts of static...
Okay. Too little sleep. Obviously.
And I've dallied long enough. The screwdriver calls.