Unless you’ve heard the David Bowie song, you won’t know what the title means, but I don’t think there’s a human alive who hasn’t heard the song.
We’re seriously working on finding a house. I mean, seriously. We went to one place on Friday and I woke up at 3 on Saturday morning and rolled for an hour, thinking about the place, before I could get back to sleep. On Saturday, John went past one place we saw on the ‘net , and Sunday he picked out a few more to look at. Between the online listings and the GPS, I’m sure this is a whole lot easier than what our parents went through when they went house-hunting.
I wish I knew what it was that got him started, but six months ago he was dead set against the idea, and now he’s taken the idea and run away with it. He spent half the afternoon telling me his plans for how he’d set up the rec room or what he wants to do with the screened-in back porch, or how we can make Alex’s matchbox-sized room work out. It’s like it’s become HIS idea. I’m fine with that, if he had his heart set on a house with a bigger kitchen.
In the mean time, I got nothing done with Release Point. I’m up to page 20 of 123, but the page count will change dramatically when I figure out how to make Paul’s motivation work. Last night as I was falling asleep, between thoughts of the house on Powell Street, I realized that I could very well go to the Long Island conference on Friday and if anyone asked, I could simply say that RP wasn’t quite ready to go yet. Then I remembered that the NJ contest deadline is on Sunday. If it’s not ready then, uh, oops. 😉