I'm snugly in St. Louis, arriving with a Pirate Cat as my look-out (perched not in her nest in the passenger seat but rather instead on the stacked boxes behind my head) at a rollicking 3 a.m. in the morning. 3 different semis tried to shoulder me off of the road and a semi and a pick up truck decided to blockade the exit-lane I needed, for apparently no particular reason but spite.
Harrowing journey aside, I would say I feel liberated from possessions, but the box farm I'm living in speaks otherwise. I can hardly seem to empty them but for more of them to appear, materializing out of thin air, apparating into existence in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the backyard.
Time for more tea, more patience (they make it in a gel, these days! modernity!), and more slowing of entropy.
Allons! Les enfants de la patrie!