Where did you say we're sleeping tonight?

Once again, the queen-size bed is in the attic, and we're "sleeping" in the double in the spare bedroom/living room/den. I say "sleeping" because one of us is longer than the bed, and wakes us every time his feet encounter the foot rail - umpteen times a night - and the other needs an astonishing amount of space to throw off all covers, lie on her back and radiate excess heat (which apparently emanates from either the core of the earth or our wireless modem).

To go to bed, we move two easy chairs & an end table as far from the bed as they'll go (three whole feet!), and try to clear a path to avoid wee-hour collisions or stubbed toes. Then, to get dressed, the bed and chairs have to huddle together so we can get to the "dresser". (I hereby apologize abjectly for pretending that piece of furniture could have ever been adequate storage for a teenage girl's clothes! We're paying for that now.)

Our real dressers are in the attic - such a treat first thing in the morning when I really have to have that wool sweater. Bill's office is stuffed with furniture, filing cabinets, a piano, the houseplants, and a cat who thinks it's a perfect refuge. My office is the kitchen counter, which means a constant mess of bits of paper and magazines that Bill straightens up when it gets too overwhelming. We've moved so much, so many times, that we have to think where we are when we wake up, and can't DO anything without asking, "Where did we put the ...?"

I'm not even going to talk about last month when I shut myself in the laundry room while guys stomped in and out, banging and crashing for a week. (Well, I'll only talk about it a little...) It's all going to be worth it, and in a few weeks, we'll post the results of all this dislocation.