Norovirus + Cold

Okay, this is pretty miserable.

Went to my gorgeous niece’s birthday party this past weekend. Lucky us, it happened to be scheduled during a brief pause between when Jon was recovering from a nasty bug (it’s been going around his office) and when I was coming down with it.

But the “coming down with it” happened while we were prepping for the 5-hour drive back home. Ugh.

Let me say that 1) traveling while sick with norovirus is uncool (UNDERSTATEMENT) and 2) having a cold on top of it is just extra cruel. Last night with its combined “not only are you nauseated but you also can’t breathe through your nose” made for some unpleasant sleep.

And then I dreamed I was being framed for a horrible thing I didn’t do. Had to escape from Bosnia-Herzegovina on top of a train without being caught or electrocuted. (I’ve never been to any part of the Balkans; I don’t know why that came up. But apparently Bosnia-Herzegovina has lots of lovely waterfalls, so maybe I should go…?)

Enduring simultaneous multiple illnesses affecting the head and throat: do. not. recommend.

Spring Cleaning – The Moving Version

Welp, things are again changing dramatically over here.

Jon and I are moving out of Houston, back to the East Coast, back to snowier climes. Which we’re thrilled about.

*confetti* *dancing*

This has been cause for much celebration by friends and family in the northeast, and not so much from friends and family here in Houston. (It’s nice to be loved.) But once again, Jon and I have to live hundreds of miles away from each other for a month and change, due to his company’s scheduling. He literally stopped his contract work here on a Saturday and started work in the new city on Monday.

So yeah. 45 days apart once again. Which we are NOT thrilled about.

Soooooo, given the frustration and bodily trauma that was “packing to move to Houston,” I am looking at this as an opportunity to really lighten up our load. Books about decluttering, such as Konmari and others, have been a presence in the media the past few years. We read a few but never thought we could do anything like that, because we love-and-joy REALLY hard on lots of things. (As in, YES EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE OF THESE WATER GLASSES GIVE ME SQUEEJOY GO AWAY kind of hard.) Now I’m in a “uhhh fine these can be replaced” kind of mood, because cross-country moves are annoyingly expensive.

And so is packing.

Ugh.

So I guess yay new adventure, boo the leadup? I am looking forward to the end point, though.

The Day Before

I imagine this as a test.

“If you had only 36 hours left in the lifestyle you currently know, what would you do?”

It’s in me to have pretty melodramatic reactions to shit. It’s a useful trait in a writer, after all, and a hella convenient one for a project manager in a dysfunctional organization. Seriously, when I was doing project management in one particular company, having various “OMG DOOM INCOMING EVERYTHING IS GOING TO SHIT WHAT THE HELL DO WE DO” reactions saved my cookies more than once, because off I went, finding the best possible ways with the resources we had to respond in case the worst DID happen.

Which it did. More often than I like to remember.

But that org is a long time past and I’m no longer a project manager. Now my doom and gloom thoughts don’t have good redirection… and this is one of the doomiest election cycles I’ve had a chance to witness. So here I am, looking out the window at the charcoal-purple evening sky and wondering. If this was the last time I got to have this life as it is, what would I do?

Um. *heartflutter*

     Caveat: I can’t really visualize an arc-shattering event in my country.
     But I have family who lived through bombings & destruction in WW2.
     I see what is happening in Syria. I know it can happen anywhere.
     I owe it to myself to know.

Well, listening to the 2 early Hamilton Mixtape releases is a good start. I’ll luxuriate in Kelly Clarkson kicking ass on “It’s Quiet Uptown.”

I’ll listen to a selection of music I love. I’ll cry, like I do, at a lot of it.

Sweetie is at work. He’ll come home and I’ll say “YAY” loudly, like I often do, and run to him, like I sometimes do, and get kisses and skinses* before he can even drop his bag, like I often do.

We’ll walk the pup. Delight in the park. Come back and snuggle with animals and watch the Westworld episode we missed last night. Maybe watch some CW shows.

Then I’ll sleep. Hope to sleep well, but aware I’ll probably wake, often, worrying.

…I couldn’t even get past that. I don’t think I’d want to get out of bed the next day. The likelihood would be that all the roos would be with us. And I can’t imagine spending a better last-few-hours than that – safe, warm, supported, with the sweeties I love all around me.

It took a while for me to realize it.

I am exactly where I would choose to be. EXACTLY.

And that gives me more hope that I expected.