Michael Tolliver said you can have a hot job, a hot lover and a hot apartment, just not all three at once. I'm not sure I have any of those, but okay, I'll cop to the job portion just to keep myself from feeling entirely bereft.

I have spent three angst-ridden days trying to picture myself and my cats living in Tacoma, and I can't, at least not entirely. I can certainly see the apartment, all sash windows and radiator and crapped-up hardwood floors and the view of Mt. Rainier.

My gut's in a knot. It dawned on me this morning that I have time, and don't need to decide anything right now. I have a permanent invitation from a friend to live in her house, so I can take whatever time I need to decide where I will land next; the only downside to that would be moving twice. I feel much more peaceful when I think of staying on the island. Dare I admit that I'm old enough / settled enough / emotional enough to need community?

Maybe it's worth a last ditch effort to try to stay in Camelot, even if I'm living in the servant's quarters.