I love a good ninety-nine. On the brink of a new triple digits. It’s fun to say.
Big day today. We wrapped up the last of our business, officially, at the apartment building. We are no longer apartment mangers.
Ten years.
I suppose I’m living in my own “nine” at the moment: thirty-nine. That’s how many trips I’ve taken around the solar system. My number of orbits. It will be forty later this year. That’s a nice round number. Very interesting that we’re making this move at that age, when the last time we made such a big move—into the apartment to become managers of the building—I was twenty-nine. About to be thirty.
That roundness is not lost on me.
It wasn’t quite supposed to be that way. We were supposed to be in this house earlier. Last year, in fact. Around this time. But, things took longer than we expected. We took longer than we expected even after all those “things” were finished. It’s been a colossal effort to get our asses into this house. And now that we’re here…it’s pretty awesome. Team effort. No doubt.
Liz is looking through photos right now on her phone of the past several weeks, and laughing. She’s happy. I am too. Very happy.
And…getting to bed late. Not a great idea when I’m forcing myself to get up at 6:45, but here we are. I’m going to be better about it tomorrow.
Night night.