In which I don’t quite believe what I’ve done.

We bought the plane ticket six weeks ago, because without a set date I knew I’d never get anything done. But I met my goal admirably, even down to guessing correctly how many boxes it would take. (Twenty. Slightly under four hundred pounds.) The goal was to ship five boxes every Friday, which happened twice, but the final half got shipped a couple of days apart during my last few days in Walla Walla.

My flight left at two on Wednesday, so I got up, ate, finished packing, dusted and vacuumed. Off to the airport at a quarter to one.

Had a two-and-a-half hour layover in Seattle, but I needed it because my discount ticket didn’t include baggage transfer. So I had to get off the plane, exit to baggage claim, retrieve my suitcase and take it to the Sun Country counter, check it AGAIN (and pay another goddamned $25 bag fee), and then re-enter through TSA.

It was stupid and cost fifty bucks. But this helped:

And so did the one after it.

Then I flew to MSP and the cutest boy in the world was there to pick me up and drive me home in, well, this:

Thursday we spent lying around and cuddling, then we went out for Mexican food and a trip to Target for kitchen implements. They didn’t have rotary egg beaters, but I did finally get a dish drainer! (I bugged him about not having one constantly when I was here in December.)

Friday, he had to go to work, so I spent the day cleaning and organizing and unpacking and in general settling in. I have my own kitchen for the first time in eight or nine years, so I put the pots and pans exactly where I wanted to. It was awesome! The poor man can’t find a thing, but that’s his problem.

This — plus four more boxes, not yet arrived — is all I have left to unpack:

We’re going to need some shelves. And a dresser. And possibly more shelves.