Housing search is going okay. Daniel's scouring the listings, so all I have to do is turn up when we've arranged to see a promising place and say yea or nay on whether I'd live there. So far we've passed on a too-tiny place in a great location and declined to see another promising place because the owners were demanding to see things like our actual social security cards before they would consider renting to us. (Who has their social security card? I mean, I do, because my parents put it into a folder along with my birth certificate, and when I went out into the world to seek my fortune, they gave me that folder, and I've carried it with me ever since in a
Anyway, we're going to see at least one possible place this afternoon. Fingers crossed.
For whatever reason, my preferred relief from this particular combination of stresses is watching early '70s Doctor Who episodes. I apologize in advance for any untoward squeeing about decades-old episodes that may suddenly appear in this space as a result.