The letter from a San Diego librarian kept reappearing while packing up the old house. I didn’t know what to do with it, or where to put it, so it was circling the house until it was one of the last five things boxed up. There are always those last three boxes of crap that you never know what to do with in your home on a normal daily basis that become the very last things you pack because there’s no category for them.
It was a car full of whining last night as we drove away from the house in Silverlake (some say Silver Lake. I always hung onto the one-word spelling.) Olive was keeping a constant loop of meowing, while Cal gave the occasional mew. Taylor was pretty quiet until he heard me crying, and then he started up with a few whines.
“This is supposed to be a happy thing,” stee reminded us.
But it was hard to leave that pretty neighborhood, with the reservoir (my running path) so close by. I don’t think there’s an easy place to run around here. I haven’t seen any joggers, anyway, so I think I have to start driving. I’ll probably drive back to the reservoir, honestly.
Taylor wins for Quickest Adjusted. The owners before had a cat, something Cal immediately figured out, and there was a particular corner of the house he didn’t like. We sprayed this hospital-strength stuff over there and now he’s fine. Olive is still sleeping under the covers of our bed, but with the wonderfulness that is our new mattress, I really can’t blame her.
Last night I was walking around the house trying to figure out what that strange sound was, where it was coming from. About ten minutes later I realized: crickets and outside. I guess I’ve been away from nature a bit.
We ate dinner at almost midnight, but I cooked it in the kitchen, the one with the cabinets that are oddly designed so that plates and glasses don’t really fit in them. The shelves are skinny, narrow and tall. How am I supposed to fit a wok in there?
We couldn’t find the coffee this morning. We unpacked seven boxes trying to find the coffee. I opened one that caused a glorious crash of ground roast in the air, only to discover I’d found the coffee grinder. No coffee.
I moved out of my parents house as quickly as I could to escape the very chores I now have daily. This morning I watered the lawn, cleaned the cat pan, took out the trash, bought some shelves for the bathroom at Target and bought a new shower head at Home Depot.
I walked through Home Depot like One of Those People. I never thought I’d ever, ever, EVER, browse a Home Depot. But I did, from refrigerators to screen doors, I mulled over prices, picked out paint samples, longingly touched cabinet displays. I can’t believe this is me.
“Are you going to start one of those garden journals?” stee asked. The word “No” flew out of my mouth before he could finish. So while I might be incredibly impressed with the way I repotted a few plants yesterday, there’s no need to tell you all about it in great detail. I will try to remember what the world was like before I bought a home, and how nobody will ever care about this house like we do. But I have sunburn for the first time in forever, from being home. That’s something that hasn’t happened since we lived at the West Hollywood apartment. I hadn’t realized how much I missed being outside during the day.
I am exhausted. The DSL is still down. There’s a way to dial-in, but honestly, the DSL will be working by tomorrow afternoon and that’s soon enough to go back to the daily grind. Besides, I still don’t have a desk.
I have made the mistake of writing this on my back on the futon. I am now surely going to fall asleep before I get any good work on the novel done. I’d better stop here.