This afternoon finds me flitting between several half finished projects including, but not limited to: packing up the house, cleaning, taking apart my broken stereo thinking (incorrectly) that I can fix it, writing a birthday letter to an old friend, and eating. I’ve packed up the crafts shelf, all my books (in small boxes for easy carrying, natch), and am starting on the biggest box of all:

Ariel’s Doo-Dahs.
These include exciting trinkets like my bottle of ARIEL 2000 non-alcoholic champagne, the woodburned plaque my father made featuring the log cabin he and my mother built and in which I was raised, my sin box that has a picture of Jesus taking acid on the side, and my entire My Little Pony collection. Other exciting bits include stuffed dragonfly toys, plaster masks of Andreas’ and my faces, and two trophies I won when I was in rabbit 4H. I never throw any of this stuff away. It just moves from house to house, displayed on window ledges, bookshelves, and bedside tables.

It’s a very strange thing, not knowing where the next bedside table my orange blowfish alarm clock will rest. I’m a big planning person, and at a friend’s party last night, I had trouble explaning that I’m heading to New York in a week and yeah, I’ll probably be back in the Northwest for a few weeks in August but then I’ll probably be moving…

Somewhere.

People don’t like to hear me say LA, but I have no idea if I’ll like NYC, and who knows? Maybe I’ll find a job in Rio or Denver or Sedona. I simply have no idea. Some people seem to think that’s exciting, but I have some (twitch-twitch) control issues about having no idea where I’m going next. I’m (twitch-twich) working through them, but it’s definitely being an exercize in just letting go and letting it happen.