"Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder"...or Something Shiny...

It's kinda starting to hit me, ya know? This whole moving to Florida thing. Mostly because of the reactions from my mother and sister...

When I left for the military, that was different. It was a given that I would come home--I mean, come on, a democrat was president. They don't tend to start wars. Go ahead, google it, I double-dog dare you....

I'll wait...

Okay, so I won't wait. Regardless, college was the same way--it's just assumed kids will come home, ya know? Whether it's holidays, summers... That's what you do 90% of the time--you go home, home, of course, being where your heart is, and my heart has always been with my family...

Most of the time.

Okay, okay, mostly most of the time.

You still love them...

But this...

This is moving. MOVING. (Yes, it needed the bold and underline treatment...) For work. For life. For keeps.

Not that I won't be home for weddings (there's on in the works, ya know!), holidays, special occasions... But it's no longer going to be home in the geographical sense of the word, in that, "My home is within an hour drive of all the major players." Two brothers, two sisters, the parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews...

I'm going to miss out on a lot. A LOT.

But I'm also going to experience so much more. MUCH MORE.

Okay, I'll stop THAT now.

Maybe...

Nah.

Anyway, something shiny.

Yes, shiny. (A little bit of tired randomness never hurt anyone...) You see, every summer, I get mild insomnia, usually late August, early September. Who knows why (although with the rate we label things "diseases" these days, I could coin a new medical condition for it, like "Seasonal Insomniatic Disassociative Disorder" or something....), but it's a pain in my keister.

It's striking early this year, and I know it's stress.

Knowing it was (is) stress, I channeled my inner nerd, did a spread sheet, crunched the numbers (color-coded, mind you), and I know I will be fine (albeit slightly poor) for the next two years until the debt is completely paid off--them's the breaks. But I *will* make it, and I *will* be fine...

But I lived with Eeyore so long, "doomspeak" is second nature. I abhor doomspeak, so much so that I now purposefully "optimize" every doomspeak scenario that enters the brain. Things like, "Well, even if Dad were on his death bed, what are the odds that I'd make it there before he died even if I still lived locally?" (Don't judge me!). Or, "Well, even if I did end up stranded on a deserted stretch of beach, I've seen cast-away long enough to know not to name my soccer ball 'Wilson,' so it'll all be good and I'll never freeze to death..."

I never claimed they weren't far-fetched doomspeak...

DOOMSPEAK.

(Told ya...)

My mom teared up a bit over dinner--not that this is unusual, but it was in regards to a "Five more weeks!" statement. I could hear Sylvia's voice crack ever so slightly looking at the pics of my new abode while I was on the phone with her. I'm jam-packing my schedule (for me, that is, being the quasi-anti-social being that I am) with a trip here, a lunch there, a dinner then, an outing here, an invitation over there...

I know once I'm down there, life is *really* going to slow down. I'm expecting it, and can't wait to dive into the books that have been packed away for the last ten years and reread some great classics and favorites. (At least, I *tell* myself I can't wait...) Practically, I can still call everyone in my family every day and gab, talk, laugh...

But I will no longer have the option of taking a day just to stop by.

And I think we're all kind of thinking that.

Life will go on. We will all survive, and thrive even.

But I will miss the convenience of having my loved ones close enough to hug.

HUG.





I'm gonna have to make that one last...

I'm going to miss them like you wouldn't believe.

Or, maybe you do.

But this is my blog, therefore, it's about me.

And them...

That's life, ain't it?

Something shiny... And bright... And family...

Another Day in the Life...

My dog continues to astound with his twelve-year-old prowess. You wouldn't think a 50-pound oldie like him would be into jumping up onto a 36-inch high dining room table just to watch me drive away from the house, would you?

You also wouldn't think that a dog's claws could leave such deep grooves in the wood of said dining room table...

Regardless, I have a most gracious host, and I have already found her a replacement dining room table that I will be picking up next Friday. Needless to say, I will not be putting said table together until I hand her back her house keys on March 30th as I migrate south for the duration of the next foreseeable stage of my life.

I've decided to bring the dog with me anyway. (Who am I kidding? Like it was ever a question!) On the bright side, I won't have any furniture for him to clamber and climb and leap onto for at least the first week of living in my new digs--besides my bedroom set, that is, and that, at least, should make him feel at home 1,500 miles away from any other home he's ever known. I'm hoping that same amount of comfort will be transferred to myself...

Beaux, on the other hand, seems to handle everything in stride. He could care less as I drive away in the morning, as long as he has food. You have to love the love of a cat. That UN-neediness is sometimes preferable.

For those who haven't yet seen, here are some pics of my new place (that I have yet to see in person):

Zee building...

Zee pool...

Zee door on zee left back corner, ground floor, is mine...

Zee living room, looking toward zee kitchen (left) and bathroom (right) and bedroom door (extreme right)...

Zee purple tub of wonder...

Standing in zee kitchen, looking toward front of living room...

Zee backyard with funny-looking wind chime holder...

Right side of zee kitchen, awaiting my culinary expertise...

Left side of zee kitchen, awaiting my dishpan hands...

I know, I know--you're all kinds of gaga over the tub, right? As one of my friends put it, that's "lavender," not "purple."

Tomato, to-mah-to. :) Truth be told, I'm just happy to have that tiny back yard complete with funky tree to hang my wind chimes on. I've been missing them like I never thought I would. (Here's hoping the new neighbor's like them just as much!)

Be that as it may, we are now at the 5 week countdown. In 5 weeks I leave for the south, no one knowing if ever to return (excepting major family events and holidays, of course!)

I'm just hoping I like it. I want to like it there. I want this to be a lovely new chapter, filled with... Well, not puppies, kittens, and rainbows--I have those in spades! But contentment. Perhaps some comfort. A bit of joy. And a killer tan. (Please spare me the skin cancer talk... Thanks!)

I am working out again, once again reaching for the never-having-before-attained-killer-six-pack (which I know I might not have in time for beach season), and I've got a pretty general new routine down living here with the roomie. But there's a short list (and growing) of other things, other hobbies, I will gradually incorporate into my daily routine (fingers crossed) including jogging, walking the dog, and a promise to myself to hit the beach once a month now that I'll be living within spitting distance (if by spitting distance we mean a five-minute drive or hurricane-force winds at my back at the time of expectoration).

In the meantime? I'll just be happy if my dog stays off the furniture...

White and Purple and Semantics, Oh My!

It's amazing the ways your subconscious chooses to deal with sudden shifts in life and reality.

I find myself suddenly addicted to white. In the last three weeks alone, I've bought 10 white shirts--V-neck, crew neck, short sleeved, long sleeved. 20 new pairs of white socks join at least two pairs of new white underwear, and the apartment I'm looking to rent in Florida? White from top to bottom, if one does not count the very funky purple bathtub...

Not that one rents an apartment solely for bathtub color, but it's nice to know I can get excited about more than one color at a time.

Incidentally, I'm imagining this is how a whole generation of people felt when color television replaced black-and-white television...

Perhaps not.

But when one no longer has to see how many clothes were ruined by the terrible water that existed inside the washing machine--well, it just gives you a whole new appreciation for what you can and cannot purchase and expect to last longer than three or four washings, you know?

I have almost nothing left of the wardrobe I left with. Half of it is because they were orange-stained, orange-spotted, or otherwise... The otherwise being an overall uniform orange-ish shade that iron does when it doesn't actually feel like ruining your clothes, but doesn't want them to stay the same shade that they were to begin with either.

The other half being, of course, the 70 or so pounds I've lost. Just the other night, when I slipped on that pair of size 34 jeans and expected to have to pull ever so slightly... And didn't have to pull? The fact that I could still fit two fingers easily between the waistband and my actual waist?

You don't have to imagine how weird it feels to feel your clothes touching your body. Now that I can purchase clothing that actually fits my not-quite-lanky-but-getting-there build, I have to wonder when the consciousness of fabric against skin will disappear. Not that I consider myself skinny yet. (After all, in my head, skinny doesn't come with love handles... They will be banished if I have any say about it!) But the fact that I once again turn heads when I enter a club is a good feeling, and while I know even on my best days I'm about a seven, I'll take it.

Speaking of seven...

And this is *not* to brag, but an observation of slight incredulity and slight pride...

And may be TMI for my more motherly reading audiences.... (Mom, you have been warned... Yes, YOU, Mom... No, my other Mom... Duh!)

Apparently I'm gifted in the "downstairs" area. As my most recent paramour put it, "Well, of course you don't think it's big--you've had it your whole life!"

Touche... But true, I suppose. Unlike (I think? I'm on the verge of clicheing my race here...) most gay men, I don't really think about it, whether it's mine or theirs, you know? I expect a man to have one, of course. It's kind of integral, actually, to the whole "gay" thing! But it never crossed my mind with any past lovers to think, "Oh! That's big!" or "Oh, it's so cute and little!" That last one may have landed me a punch in the face if I had ever thought it, let alone said it! But I think you get the drift. I still disagree on semantics, I suppose. After all, most people consider Hawthorne a large dog, but to me, 50 lbs is barely on the medium side.

But what do I know?

That I love white, I suppose. And size 34 jeans.

And I'm probably gonna have a purple tub.

Directionless in ...

A 10 minute drive to a local Walmart turned into an hour and fifteen minute countryside drive.

Not on purpose.

That's what happens when you

1. Live in a new neighborhood
2. Have to navigate that new highway you haven't driven on
3. Live in small town, PA

I did find a lot of great little towns in the sinking sunlight. I'll never figure out how to get back to them, of course. That's half the beauty, if you ask me.

What isn't half the beauty, is, of course, the 1/4 tank of gas I didn't plan on using, the fact that I wouldn't have even been lost if the goddamn store I originally was going to go to had been open during the business hours clearly posted on both their website AND on the door right above the "CLOSED" sign, and if I had bothered to do a quick google search.

On another note, someone opened their fat trap and told the ex-hubby I was moving to Florida before I had a chance to tell him this Sunday, but that's the way life rolls, eh? I'd rather he heard it from me, but what can I do? At least he has time to let it sink in before I go pick up any left-over mail and the few CDs that were inadvertently left at the house. Perhaps it can be a civil discussion? (Fingers crossed.)

As it stands, things are moving forward. Almost all the ties have now been severed, newness abounds (with seemingly every car trip), and things WILL be onward and upward. I will accept nothing less.



In the bright side, I found out where the chili-pepper festival is held on my own. On the dark side, it wasn't happening at this time of year.