Unpublished Post: November 2016

We’ve been living out of boxes. Our mandatory move-out is May, we thought. Or maybe it’s August. No, December. Drawers of extra journals lie in cardboard under the bed, the desk, the hutch. German books I can’t throw away. Thrift store milk glasses. Colored pencils. Just a couch and boxes. We leave work and drive around the city until we’re ready to face home.

After two days in a row taking five hour naps, I ask “What’s wrong with us?”

“Maybe we have mono,” he says.

We drive past our new apartment measuring the patio and asking each other if we’ll put up a Christmas tree this year.


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