Hark, the mover van comethe

I’m sorry, I meant to continue indie for dummies, but we’ve been in a madness of packing, because two weeks (which is what we had after TVIW and other commitments already made, is not enough to pack a four bedroom house, not even with packers.

For more insight into what’s going on, see here: The State of The Writer

And after being selectively quoted by Jim Hines who pretended I was calling anyone not with the puppies worse than those who abetted the holocaust and the holodomor, by cutting out the part where I addressed those who destroy lives and reputations for a plastic rocket, we have at least established what Jim Hines is.  He’s not duped by those destroying reputations and lives.  He’s one of the principals.  I have only one question for him: But for Wales, Jim?

It’s good at least to start identifying the poisonous vipers.  It means we don’t unwittingly step into their nests.

I’m starting to feel like Heinlein’s description of the Crazy Years: a man (or woman) with all his/her gaskets tight is at least at risk of being jailed.  Or possibly sent to coventry by the howler monkeys.  I wonder if they realize the more they shriek the more the circle tightens around… them.

And now I go.  I have more important things to do.  I’ll resume the indie posts next week, hopefully.  Sorry for the delay.

34 comments

  1. No worries, good lass. I’m sure things will *mostly* be set aright ere you return. I’m told we have a system for replacing misplaced/destroyed in a fire/cut off in a dimensional warp/made into matchsticks by hungover dragon things, right?

    Right? *hopes!*

  2. Take Care Sarah, we’ll survive for a while without you.

    Of course, MGC will survive as well or will it? 😈

  3. Ah, yes – every time we packed for a PCS move, I repeated the adage “Things are in the saddle and ride mankind…”
    I may still have a box or two at the back of the den closet that I never got around to unpacking after the last move.

    1. Ummm. Let me see, the boy (now a Marine) was barely toddling when we moved into the current house.

      I can think of at least a half-dozen boxes that have never been unpacked. (I suppose I should get to them sometime. The packing tape is probably shot, at least.)

    1. What sane parents name their bouncing baby boy “Katherine”?

      I mean, it’s obviously a male, right?

      Well, the melanin deficiency is correct.

      (BTW, nominated in 1959 for the best novelette Hugo. But she was up against Simak’s “The Big Front Yard” – no contest…)

    1. On Jim Hines, I will simply repeat the old adage that if you have nothing good to say, say nothing at all.

      [crickets]

    1. Chuckle Chuckle

      I’d love to see Sarah try to pack her boys into boxes.

      They’re bigger than her! 😈

        1. Oh, there are boxes big enough to hold them but I’m talking about her getting them into the boxes if they weren’t willing to get into the boxes. 😈

          1. Kittens and boys climb into boxes all by themselves given half a chance… heck, give them a chance to read some Calvin and Hobbes, and it’ll be “Into the transmogrifier and away!”

  4. Practically speaking, there is no difference between the prime movers and the useful idiots. They’re all busily engaged in the work of destroying western culture.

    1. while not knowing when I am supposed to move is a hassle, I cannot feel overly sad I did not have to move to Northern Wisconsin/U.P. of Michigan in Feb, or March.
      I do have to fly up for a pilot run on my blend tank next week, but there is (so far) only a slight chance of flurries one day,
      Originally it was supposed to be this week.
      Score! .Dodged that one!

      1. Have no words. Uhm. Except very urgent good thoughts coming your way. Take very good care of yourselves.

  5. Carol and I understand the challenge, dear lady. Boy, do we. We also understand that we’ve been incredibly lucky so far. Not all of our moves have gone as smoothly as this one. (Carol would also caution that it’s not over until the old house is safely sold.) Wishing one metric shitload of smoothness at you, pronto!

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