I moved, inserting myself rudely into someone else's living and mental space.
I moved again, leaving behind the tiny bit of habit and security and sense of place I'd developed over the last six weeks.
Two weeks later, shadowdaddy moved into the place I'd picked out, and showed up shaky and damaged and looking a bit like a stray dog, needing to relearn what life was like with regular meals and friendly pats.
A month later, all of our stuff showed up and turned our place into a nightmare of boxes and clutter. At least, that's my guess. I'll find out when I get home in two hours.