My entire team appears to be either sick or out of town today and I’m feeling rather mischievous. I am as yet undecided as to what rebellious things I should do while I ought to be working. Perhaps I will be really wild and crazy and prepare my tax return. I’m a daredevil, aren’t I?

Monday I came home from work and annoyance with my residence reached new heights. Immediately after I walked the dogs I started packing. I want out. Yesterday. Sure, I’ve been saying I want to move for months, but as far as doing anything about it…well, I haven’t. Now, I’m packing. What kind of crazy person packs before they even know when or where they’re moving? That person would be me.

I picked up a newspaper yesterday and started looking for places. I got a bit frustrated by the process, but then my dear friend L called and she told me that she would scope the paper, pick me up on Saturday, and drive me past potential places. I’m grateful that I have such a friend, otherwise this whole thing would probably scare me into staying where I am. I’ve never sought out my own place before. Isn’t that insane?

Last night I took advantage of it being garbage night and hauled a mountain of stuff to the curb. I’ve decided that all I want to take with me is books, DVDs, CDs, clothes, the television, the stereo, and the bed. I don’t want or need the rest. I hate having so much stuff. Sure, I’ll keep my toaster, but as far as I’m conscerned I can drink out of old pasta jars. I threw out things that I never thought I’d get rid of. I’ve kept every single scrap and reminder of Sam and the life we had for over two years, and last night I finally said, “screw it.” I’ll keep the photos. That’s all I need. I felt guilty at first, throwing out all of his large framed photos of the wilderness, the fish clock that reels and gurgles at the hour, the turkey call, the Christmas ornaments with his kids’ names on them. It needs to be done.

I took a break from dragging things to the curb to meet E and pick up my bridesmaid dress for her wedding. I paid for it and left without even trying it on. Yes, I’m a difficult bridesmaid. If I can’t wear my knee-high black boots and prosthetic hillbilly teeth when I walk down the aisle, I’m not trying on the dress. I went to her house for a bit and looked through some of her old pictures from high school and cringed at my utter cluelessness during that era. Ugh.

Went home and had a lovely two-hour conversation on the phone with A who is in DC this week. Perhaps one might think that this whole A situation is what is spurring me to make so many changes that I’ve put off for so long. Perhaps that is the case. Either way, I’m not really sure that it matters. Things are good. Well, for the most part. It seems my reservations and worries have finally showed up.

Let me explain. For many moons now I’ve believed that, if one likes a guy…really, really likes a guy, then the WORST thing that you could do is to date him. It ends badly and there are hurt feelings, oh, about one hundred percent of the time. If you never get into a real relationship with the object of your affection then not only can you avoid heartache, but you can still have them in your life in a positive way. You can be friends, friendly even. You can look upon one another and wonder what would have/could have/should have been without bitterness. On the other hand, you date, it doesn’t work out, then one or both of you might run into one another a few months down the road and have awkward, stilted conversation while you know that internally you are both cussing the other out. It’s not pretty.

You see then…where my thoughts are now?

It’s going to be 65 degrees today. My mountain bike and I will be having a tearful reunion when I get out of here. Yay! Spring!