We're moving office in early December, so we need to box up all our stuff for the move. Ordinarily I'd be like, what a pain. But I was really excited at the thought of needing to come in to the office for a day. I could take a couple hours extra to walk around downtown and check out the plaza, the park, the path alongside the river, all the places I haven't been in so long. Even seeing my office would be fun and nostalgic. I could bring home my water bottle that's been sitting on my desk since March!
(I hope I emptied out that water bottle before I left...otherwise it's probably full of mold...)
But Nat offered to box up my stuff for me so that I wouldn't have to come in. It's a pandemic, y'know. Safety first (and everyone knows I have a long public transport commute, and there have been multiple confirmed covid cases at the building this month alone). So I took him up on his kind offer. I'm simultaneously relieved and sad.
On the plus side, I'm visiting home for Thanksgiving weekend! Gonna head down on Friday afternoon and stay until Sunday. Very exciting, very cool. My entire Twitter timeline is conspiring to make me feel guilty about this decision; it's full of people chorusing, "Stay at home, idiots" and pointed comments like "Which of your family members are you fine with killing??" It's not working. I'm going and I will not feel guilty. My roommate, as always, has been strictly quarantined, and my only outside contact in the past two weeks has been a brief, outdoor, distanced encounter with the curbside grocery delivery lady.
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