I’ve just ambled back from the post office branch nearest my office, where I became the proud renter of a post office box. In other words, a place to receive our mail when we no longer have a permanent physical address. After May 31, it’s our terra firma in New York City… our only terra firma, period. It’s the most permanent address we’ve got, an 11″ x 5.5″ box in a post office. Strange.
And yet, in the meantime, we’ve got a signed contract to sell my apartment — which will yield the funding to help us on our way across the country. I’m researching the new place. We’re visiting for house hunting, and school searching, in a couple of weeks. As this, this NYC-based life, the permanence of it, starts to fade away, the new place is starting to shimmer, like a mirage, appearing more real and sustantial by the day. Don’t mistake me, there are still plenty of hurdles, the main one being my lack of gainful employment thereabouts. But that will come. I believe that will come.