Forty Two Stairs From the Street

With the move complete, I am sitting in my new space, surrounded by boxes.  This weekend, in a word:  overwhelming.  I am going to have to die in this new place before I move ever again.  To paint a picture of complete and total absurdity, we moved 36 wine glasses of varying sizes, types, and composition.  That doesn't even include high ball and margarita glasses.  Mr. Cutthroat and I hardly drink.  It seems as though these things accumulate.  Perhaps our animals are throwing wicked ragers when we are at work.  Or, at least I hope someone is getting use out of them.  It was a hard sell to Mr. Cutthroat as to why I required a patio set in a new patioless place.  It was even harder to convince him that we needed three gravy boats.  The move was not pretty.  But, I now have a fantastic place and a yarn room to take Cutthroat Yarn up a notch.  And, here I am blogging and knitting instead of unpacking.  A very wise FB friend once told me that I should knit until I hear my husband coming home, then I should race and pretend to unpack a box.  Very, very wise advice.