Now, three or four hours later, I'm sitting here in my mostly reassembled office, which contains almost everything from my old office, reconfigured just so, feeling weird and tired. This alternate-reality version of my office will require a few days yet to fully plant itself in this worldline. They always do. Eventually, though, the dissonance ceases, and I accept the new. This is Version 6 (1-5 span a period from 1992 to the present), which, if it says nothing else, is evidence that I move around way too frelling much.
I want to go back to work. I mean, given that I can't take off for Wales or New Zealand or Tokyo or Nebari Prime, I'd like to go back to work now. I have a book to write. I have a short-story collection to put together. I have projects that have only just begun to take shape. I need to be working. There are issues of sanity and obligations and money. But...this is the only room in the place that currently looks like what it's meant to be (discounting kitchen and bathroom). And the movers, who will handle all the heavy stuff that really would have killed me, won't be here until Saturday. There's still packing and cleaning to be done at the old place. Sophie's still over there.
Last night, after the rejuvenating Thai food, I played Ratchet and Clank: Up Your Arsenal when I should have been sleeping. The Courtney Gears video that Ratchet sees on planet Daxx is one of the absolute draddest things I've ever seen in any videogame, ever. I watched it three times. Finally, I dragged Spooky off to bed. We both took Ambien and slept for a whopping nine hours. It's a wonder we ever woke up.