Time to let go

So, the other day I popped the question. Not the happy one. But the other, the sad one. Are you totally through with us? I’ve been postponing this moment for a few years now. Years of hoping that we would find our way back to each other. In a new, more mature way. Turns out it wasn’t meant to happen. I finally figured that. And asked the question. And got the dreaded response. It was my worst nightmare come true. But it has also liberated me.

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The last five percent

Whenever I move houses – and I do so very frequently for professional reasons – I strive to turn my new place into a real home, my home, as quickly as I can. Last time around I set a new record: I finished the whole thing in just two days of intensive laboring – except for the last five percent. It’s the last boxes that don’t get unpacked. The one or two lamps that don’t get put up. The shoe cabinet that never gets assembled. I don’t know why. I always end up not finishing the last five percent.

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