With each passing day, I find myself trying to be increasingly dexterous in trying to find new and meaningful permutations of numbers to express the current position in the countdown sequence. Forty-nine days was far more elegant, being seven weeks precisely until departure. A week squared, if you will. But alas, I was not able to get an update together in time, and so it shall have to be a forty-eight day update instead – the ever so slightly younger brother of more cleverly-described fourty-nine. Forty-two will at least carry Douglas Adams’ fingerprints on it forever more, making it as suitable a deadline as any for having made some more progress or at least sussed out an interesting new development or two.
Today, in brief, was the day I finally received the lease for the snug little place in Grahamstown I had mentioned in my previous post. Having had no luck finding a lease in the five days I was in Grahamstown for, I had begun to lose hope that the last place I would get to see in the hours before departure would be the one. But there was benevolent karma in the air that morning (mixed in with the cold that also seems to have made Grahamstown its home). And so I have a place to stay when I return from the dusty adventure. It’s a small cottage on Somerset Street. It’s about a block from the grocery store, a block from the Rat and Parrot pub, two doors from Debonairs Pizza and (most importantly) a ten minute walk from the Journalism department. Not that Grahamstown is that big, but when you don’t have a car and find yourself having to go to lectures on a freezing morning, location is important, you see.
So the large checkbox on the list marked “find a home for next year” can be proudly ticked. Now it simply remains to pack or sell off the remaining accumulated junk in the current place in the next, erm… forty-eight days.