'I just accidentally laid on top of my glasses. When I put them back on, they fit better than before.
My Dad's birthday was the 12th. I neglected to call him. The excuse doesn't matter, he's been incredibly supportive of me during all of this 'into the wind' nonsense. I still have to call him. But now, I've been working during all of the acceptable call times. I am a terrible child. Let it be known.
I just had a major epiphany, during an epic lightning storm, and realized I did not know what sub-persona to log it under. Just now I am realizing that it ties neatly into ze book.'
That was the week I was having. I have since survived my last day at Dayjob, packed some more, written some more, gone outside some, settled on movers, unleashed a lot of stuff into the wild...and done exactly one shot.
And now, a happy story about living in Missoula:
This story actually takes place when I was driving away from Missoula, in order to engage in an interview that would determine whether or not I'd be allowed to get as far away from Missoula as I ever had--to England, France, Wales, and Ireland, for a trip through my university.
As I was driving from Montana to Idaho, I received a text. Everyone who had my number knew where I was going to be at the time, so I declared it an emergency worth vehicular safety to read it.
read the text from my friend, First Wife.
I damn near drove of the road. Thirty seconds later I was parked and texting her back, all caps, I don't actually remember what. And then that I loved her and I loved her concubine, Captain, and I was so excited to see the person they were going to make together.
"Well, duh, you're going to be an official Auntie!"
In fact, I became an official Godmother. First to the cheeky sprout who gives equal opportunites to princesses and superheroes, my Riverbug, and then to her little sister, who is all cheeks and drool and perfect Hollywood baby movie sounds--the Wee Ripples.
It makes my heart cringe to think about how far away I'll be living from them--but there are videos to be taken, phone calls to be made, letters to be written. They're still my girls. She's still First Wife. Missoula is still the place where I met her and, when they were born, them.
This is where I first tried to build a family, which has now expanded into a galactic empire that communicates through digital messages and warfare.
Thank you, Missoula.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Moving is busy business. Half of the time, I’m spread so thin that I can’t construct a fully functional sentence. The other half, I go full Jekyll. I accomplish a lot, but there’s this creepy, uncontrollable laughter involved. That’s why it’s been a hot second since I’ve posted on this blog. I try to save the Jekyll times for actual packing (HAHAHA), apartment hunting (accomplished!), job hunting (leads!), and answering messages and questions and summons.
Work on the novel is happening, though, along with a few side projects, and practice on the uke, and the rest of the time…I’m at Dayjob. After six and a half years, I’m please to say I have only six days left to serve at the bakery J The day I actually put Missoula in my rear window is a touch further than that. But we’re getting there!
So that’s what I’ve been up to. Now, story time.
Wifey, Wfums and I drove to the wonderful historic town where Wifey’s wonderful parents live. We were floored by the Irish music festival, ate memory-bedazzling food, and enjoyed being out of our current town for a while. I adore Wifey’s family—they are all sweetness and no bullshit and just gah I love them.
While we were there, we marched up the hill to observe a memorial to the victims of a terrible mine fire. On the way up, I summoned my former life experience as a raccoon to capture a meaty grasshopper for Wifums. The grasshopper—dubbed Lady Teddington BeauRegard by Wifums—was unharmed, and was pleased to ride on my friend’s fnger for a considerable distance. Until we started eying a bigger grasshopper. Then, Lady Teddington BeauRegard bid us farewell.
The memorial was beautiful, and sobering. There are records, final words and parting letters from the victims. Most of them bid farewell to their families, asking them to be safe and happy.
The memorial took care to display the nationalities of the miners—they came from all the hemispheres and all of the backgrounds. They were just men in a new world, doing their Dayjob.
If you’re ever in the Montana area and you come across a memorial or a museum of any sort, do take the time to step out, hike up, do whatever you must to check it out. I promise it will be worth your time, even if it’s just five minutes and a stroll.
I hope my new lands have a similar situation!