Unpublished Post: November 2016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.