The transition is complete. The whole gang made it to the new apartment, and both cats and the dog made it all the way inside with no escapes (for all that we worried the tortie would dislocate her shoulders and slip out of her harness, so she could run off on the highway, just for spite). I got my confirmation phone calls, with early impressions of the move. Now my girl gets to spend the next week or so organizing and job hunting and starting all over in a new place. It's a big, tiring process. I can't tell whether I feel sorry for her or jealous. I'm starting to think it's actually jealous.
I'm really nervous what will happen about three years after I build my forever house. Like clockwork, that's when I get the itch to move again. Will I ever be able to stay in one place for the rest of my life? The longest I ever lived in one house was six years, from the start of middle school to high school graduation. I don't think I have it in me to settle down. It's not like I have any experience at it. Last year, I was just certain that I wanted to settle here at my Park, but now I'm not so sure. I still love this town, and my little piece of it, but the thrill of the chase (of new property) is a fine thrill indeed. I'm not sure what the next year or two will bring. We have so many choices to make that it's a bit overwhelming. Not only do we need to choose what we will do, we have to decide in what order we will do all the things. Right now, everything is just speculation. I refuse to commit to anything for certain until the man is home, and we have had a few weeks to rest and get reacquainted, and readjusted to a more typical sleep-wake cycle.
Speaking of sleep-wake cycles, I am still not in control of mine. I'm trying hard not to look at this as a relapse. But I have no energy for a long blog tonight. I'm used up. Time to sleep and dream of touring houses that are up for sale. Not kidding, I do that a lot.
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