Muddled

I'm all muddled up. Lots of crap crowding my brain. It's been a weird week. Finding out not one, but two former classmates passed away recently, feeling extremely homesick already, yet still [trying to be] excited about the adventures to come.

I keep feeling like I want to be "home," back with my friends, family and my familiar routines. I want to buy orecchiette pasta at the Fruit Basket in Sonoma, because I doubt I'll ever find it here. "Orechetwhat?"

I want to go to a restaurant and have a choice of tequila other than [gag] Patron and [puke] Cuervo. I want to go out to dinner and not spend almost a hundred dollars on the stupidest thing ever invented - tapas, the greatest restaurant swindle of all time - and expensive wine that tastes only OK.

I want pretentiousness to be exterminated like the virus it is. I want the checker at Save On to be a little less frantic about chucking my groceries into bags like her hands are on fire and my food is made of gasoline. I want to wrap myself in a fleece cocoon and stay there for the next six months.

Everything is a little raw right now, but as Alan likes to remind me, this too, shall pass. On a more positive note, I finally started a personal project and made great progress on it. I'm excited about where that might lead. So, it's not all shit. Tomorrow should be better.

Here We Go

We're moving. Just a few things to take care of before we go, like purge a whole house full of crap going back to when my grandmother still lived here, paint the entire house inside and out, clean up the yard, put in a heating/AC system, and maybe some light vacuuming.

I know it's going to be an ordeal, but I'm looking forward to the adventure we're about to begin. Maybe we'll live in a house where we're not just 10 feet away from our neighbors and in the summer with all the windows in the neighborhood open, won't hear everything going on all around us.

And maybe Ninja will feel at home amongst the moose - he's about the same size and would probably enjoy standing around in a pond for several hours. This morning he chewed something off of his paw/claw and moments later was hopping around the room, like he was trying to run away from whatever he found on his foot.

A few seconds later, he was foaming at the mouth and drooling. I pried open his gullet but didn't see anything. Then I looked at where he'd been on the floor. He must have stepped on a red pepper flake - we'd had pizza and a few of those suckers drifted onto the floor, what with all the fans going yesterday. Poor kid. If only we had some milk in the house...

Anyway, I digress, sort-of on purpose. It's going to be an interesting summer but also overwhelming at times. It's easier to think about the cat eating hot pepper flakes than think about all the packing we're about to do.