Following a conversation with our neighbor this morning about how unfortunate
it was that our current house was listed for sale, I made a mental note to record this one in the
Strategic Self-Improvement Log (SSIL, pronounced siz-uhl): No. 19.
In otherwise pleasant Sunday morning conversations with casual acquaintances, cut down
on the sweeping references to real estate agents as "sharky" and "plastic."
It makes no difference whatsoever whether the other person takes a jab at
realtors before you do.

Seriously, though, my bitterness is subsiding. I’ve had the better part
of three weeks to decompress after learning of the imminent ouster from our
happy digs, and ten days out of those three weeks have been focused on the
impending move–a late June transfer of goods that should, landlord willing, settle
us comfortably into the final residence we’ll ever know in central New York.