What was to be writing in recursive

I leave my phone on vibrate for most of the day.  It is not until I check the alarm and plug it in for the night that I turn the ringer on, so when I close the display it makes a loud click of finality.  The phone is saying that it is time for bed, but tonight the laptop had other ideas. 

I originally imagined that moving to a new a new state away from family and friends would prompt more frequent posts on my part, but my time here in the frozen tundra has not felt conducive to reflection. Life here is about survival.  I have some things to say about the move and selling the house, but the house has not yet closed and my furniture does not get here until Saturday, so it doesn't feel like it's over yet.  And I liked the Genghis Khan quote I heard recently (not from him) "Nothing is good until it is finished." obviously this is not true in all circumstances, (cookies in their dough form jump to mind) but I definitely feel this way about the selling of the house and the move to Denver.

I mean, I'm pretty sure I moved to Denver, but also a small part of my mind wonders if this is all a fevered fantasy, and I am really at the bottom of a hill off a highway in Wyoming; covered in deep snow drifts, destined to be entombed there til spring. 

Purgatory has never really fit into my belief system, though maybe there is something to it after all because that seems to be the state that my furniture is in. I'm told it's in a warehouse somewhere in Idaho or maybe Utah (that the moving company representative is unsure of the State is the kind of surreal texture that lends credence to my dying in a ditch theory).  Today I learned that it is scheduled to arrive on Saturday, but I will continue to visit the cathedral and light candles for my desks and dressers.  Maybe I'm lighting them for myself though, so either I am in that ditch or I took a wrong turn at Cheyenne and ended up in a Christopher Nolan movie.