We are moving. It really wasn't planned. A month ago, I noticed that our next door neighbors were cleaning out their apartment. It took me a while to realize that it was because they were leaving. I texted our landlord right away and called dibs on the soon-to-be-vacated apartment, even before I had time to really think about it, even before I asked Imo about it. I can be awfully impulsive. My dad used to reprimand me a lot for this. In my defense, my impulsiveness has so far brought about mostly good things -- such as when I, at 23, married Imo within just a year of knowing him. And that seems to have turned out well. So far. I think. I hope.
We judged the weekend to be a success. Before that, I cooked up my weekly "Housewife's Mess" consisting of "stuff" I would throw into a casserole to stew. Before that, exercise. Before that, a slow and nervous waking up because a deranged man came to our house the previous night demanding us to surrender to him his wife who's been missing for a month and whom he was convinced was hiding with us. Before that, a short getaway to celebrate the long weekend. Before that, a commitment that we would enjoy no matter what.