I'm about to move AGAIN, for the third time in less than a year. My sister & her family decamp for the West Coast on Wednesday, at which time I move into their house and inherit Wilbert the Cat. Wilbert is still reeling from the removal of most of the furniture, particularly a red chair that was in the living room that he slept on every day. Wilbert and I have a history; he spent two weeks with me a couple of years ago. He spent most of his time under the couch (technically, inside the couch as he tore up the lining and crawled up under the stuffing), until every morning at 3 am when he wandered around the apartment YOWLING at the top of his lungs. We will be having a talk about this.
Wilbert aside, I'm oddly not that fussed about them leaving. Don't get me wrong - I will miss them dearly, as I probably won't see them again until Christmas as I have no vacation to speak of at the moment (new job). But I think it will also be a great experience for them, and as a grown-up I am well aware of how quickly the time will go (seriously, I can't believe it's AUGUST already...how did that HAPPEN?!). My parents, on the other hand, are simply beside themselves, particularly my mother which I find odd since she will be headed out there in October and then again for Thanksgiving.
I'm also not fussed because the idea of living alone again is enthralling. And not just living alone, but living in a house, as opposed to an apartment. There is a jacuzzi. There is a full kitchen. There is cable. There is a lawn service, a plow service, a garbage service. I do have litter box duty, which my strong gag reflex is already worried about, but there are worse things. There is also a treadmill, which my brother-in-law patiently moved from corner to corner of the living room. I have grand plans for this, but the truth is I had grand plans for the treadmill I bought back in 2004, which quickly became a coat hanger and now takes up space in my parents basement.
There is also ample space for my sewing. I am excited about this, although I noticed yesterday that my sewing machine is in desperate need of a good cleaning.
I am also feeling more sane then I have in a long time. Exhausted, certainly; the work commute and my late-night writing workshop are just about killing me. But I feel more...centered than I have in quite some time. I think the writing workshop is a huge contributor to that. Also, I've sort of been realizing how extraordinary the people I've dated have been...and while that has certainly been problematic at times, it takes a certain sort of "je ne sais quois" for me to be even remotely interested in someone. I suppose in a way that is just a pretentious way of saying that I'm picky. But my father is wrong: just any nice guy will NOT necessarily do.