I Don’t Know What to Call This Post

August 9, 2016 by curvylou 22 Comments

 
I could have named it any of the following:

Confessions of an Anxious Mind
Keeping a Secret for Nine Months
What Does She Have to be Anxious About?
Getting the Fuck Outta Dodge
Why Doesn’t She Get A Job?

I could add more. The meat of it is, though, that Matt and I are, at long and luxurious last, moving THE FUCK out of San Francisco.

San Francisco can eat our dust/bite our ass/not let the door hit it on the ass on the way out.

Our 15-20 loud-ass twenty-year-old neighbors to the south can beer bong and yell DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! all they want, but as far as Matthew, I, and Schrödinger are concerned, they will no longer be our daily reality, but will only exist in a cloud of possibilities that Matt and I have nothing to do with, and so no longer want to murder.

Our 3-5 twenty-seven-going-on-thirteen neighbors below us can play Duke Nukem and BroForce until dawn at high volume, but it won’t be me laying awake in a bed vibrating from their bass, plotting their ugly deaths.

Our 4-5 brain-dead upstairs neighbors can stomp around all they want, at whatever time of night, wearing hard-soled high-heeled shoes on a hardwood floor that is our ceiling and say, “We just want to, like, live our lives, you know?” to somebody else’s face at 2am on a Wednesday night while we fantasize a wee nail on those steps for them to trip upon, one after the other, piling up on top of each other at the bottom of the staircase.

I will no longer be living inside a house that magnifies sound like I live inside of a cello.

Because Matt and I are moving to Chico.

We will soon sign a lease on a three bedroom, two bathroom house with EMPTY LOTS ON ALL THREE SIDES. It’s 100 years old, has a laundry room, cabinets built by the the second owner, a peach tree in the back yard, shade trees all around, and an outbuilding that used to be the current owner’s mother’s cake shop. It has Character, capital C.

Matt gave notice at his work yesterday, so now I can finally tell you all. Because some of his work colleagues sometimes read this blog, I’ve had to keep silent about it. Matt’s had to hold his tongue at work for months, and it only got worse and more stressful for both of us in March, when I got sick one month before I was supposed to go out to Chico and start looking for a place for us to live.

The pic at top says it all for me. We’re opening a door into the unknown. Let’s see what treasure we find inside.

Holey shit we’re moving to Chico.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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