Well, besides a smashed pinkie finger, cuts all over my hands, bruises on forearms and thighs, and a puncture wound just below my left eye (when you move in the dark, it's hard to anticipate the low-swinging branches of trees you've never seen before), the move has been as lovely as a tryst in the moonlight with a sex-deprived wild woman.  That, of course, explains why I've been screaming 'fuck' 'fuck' 'fuck' all the time.  Oh no--wait, one time I did din out 'I'm screwed', but that was premature.

I dreamt last night that I was being interviewed about how I liked my new place--by dead people.  No comment.