I don't know if you've ever read Slaughterhouse Five. I don't remember a whole lot about it -- something about time/space travel and a war vet -- but what I do remember is that every time someone died, Vonnegut wrote the same refrain: So it goes.
No, no one has died. But something almost equally tragic has happened. We're not moving into the new place. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Apparently, the man we signed the lease with and his ex-wife have been to court over the house, it is actually for sale, and our lease is invalid. The landlord stopped by last night to inform us that his ex-wife had changed the locks and we had to go over there immediately if we wanted the stuff we'd already moved. Um, what?
He gave us our deposit back and we set up a time tomorrow with the realtor to pick up our stuff. In the meantime, almost everything we have is in boxes and we're not moving. And we don't know what we're doing next. So it goes.
I'm seriously considering running away and joining the circus. Sounds better than having to unpack everything again. Maybe I can teach Lily how to juggle.