Holy Crap, Los Angeles
One month to go and the house is a mess of power tools, boxes of books and DVDs, stacks, (literally stacks) of photos–mounted and unmounted–and general disarray. We leave tomorrow to go apartment hunting and I am trying to balance my unbridled excitement with the abject horror of starting over somewhere new. Memphis, you dirty, gritty, tiny little town, you have been my home for my ENTIRE life. For all of the bitching and moaning about this city, I have found myself recently projecting this strange nostalgic romanticism into the future. Like am I going to be sitting on the edge of the cliffs in Palos Verdes wishing I could go get a burrito at the Guad? Missing my old running route? Missing Midtown?
This place has its charm, admittedly, but I will probably find it infinitely more charming in memory, and from 1800 miles away. We shall see.
An aside: I’ve been working on the house trying to make it rentable and cute, but I’m like the most inept person around tools and wood and plaster and home repairs. So that’s been a real adventure in a) not cutting a finger off and b) not burning the house down out of frustration.
Going to secure an apartment this week…so wish us luck.