If I were in a Terry Pratchett book (specifically, Mort), I'd think that I'd somehow taken a turn into the wrong reality. That would explain why everyone else seems to believe that we're moving any day now. I think I've finally convinced my husband that we won't be moving for at least a year (although the sign's still in the yard), but no matter how many times he tells his ex, his lawyer, and everyone else in town, they still keep asking: "Are you moving?" Not at the moment, now will you please adjust the child support before the Apocralypse happens? Thank you very much. Sheesh!
One of these minutes, before the end of Poetry Month, I'm going to post some of my writing. But not right now.