Miami was nice.

I had a birthday, which wasn’t so nice.  Mainly because I don’t like celebrating my birthday.  AND SOMEONE ORDERED ME HOUSE SEASION 2 BUT IT HAS YET TO ARRIVE.  POSSIBLY BECAUSE THAT SOMEONE IS AN ASS.

Ahem.

I’ve been fairly stressed, but desparate to get out of this funk.  This no-money-no-condo-buyer-I’m-too-old-to-be-fucking-up-these-kinds-of-decisions-and-when-did-I-get-this-fat-again funk.

All in all, I’m very aware my life is pretty sweet.  And so I tell myself that.  Time and time again.  When the bills come.  When I step on the scale.  When I apply the umpteenth flea repellent to a dog/cat/sofa.  When I fight with ST because he thinks we eat too many vegetables, despite the fact I haven’t cooked a vegetable in over a week because I’m too busy.  When I’m too busy.

But somehow, the funk persists.  And so I haven’t written, because there this funk-hump I can’t get over so it’s all I’ll write about and I’m trying hard not to dwell on it.

Hi there.  My life is sweet.

I came to the realization this week that one the hardest changes for me in coming back to school is the ever-changing schedule.  I’m not one to fear change in general (hence this whole crazy life I’ve been living for almost a year now), but I also am someone who will schedule themselves to the max.  Now I have to completely re-arrange my scholastic/volunteer/work/personal schedule every few months.  That’s tough.  As soon as I’ve gotten a groove, it’s gone.

This semester I don’t feel like I’ve had a groove at all.  So I’m cautiously looking towards the summer as I time to get it back.

I’m also looking guiltly.  Because come summer, we will definitely be moving back to the condo if it hasn’t sold.  And I can’t wait.

For those around in the beginning, you know how much that condo felt like home to me.  And if you’ve had a real home and then moved back into rental situations, perhaps you know some of my frustrations.  At first, I was excited to be here for the location and to make a home with ST.  And I don’t know if all my stuff were here, if I’d feel different.  (We’ve kept the condo partially furnished so it would show better.)  But I look at this place, and I feel depressed.  I don’t relax here.  I can sometimes drink lots, squint, and pass out.  Not quite the same.

But moving back to the condo means a much harder schedule for ST.  And it will mean a schedule of constantly vacuuming, polishing, and putting away to keep it in show condition.  Being back at the condo won’t be like being at the condo.  Yet it’s still almost all I can think about.

School is going along fairly well.  Vegetable and DVDs aside, ST and I are well.  The sanctuary is going well and perhaps is the source of most of my satsification these days.  Satsification and bruises.

Go figure.