As I told my mother recently, things have ground to a screeching halt around here. It's monday. My beloved husband is back off to his exciting and fulfilling job filled with science and people and meetings and questions and books and access cards.
I, lo, am here.
I am nose to nose with an apartment full of stuff that needs my attention and I hear the clock ticking and I just can't be bothered to touch any of it today.
It was a great couple of days though. I went out! In Public! With PEOPLE! and (big fat duh) I had a great time. I was a little reserved, a whole lot nervous, and cleverly clumsy in places where nobody really noticed. Well, except for my beloved husband.
We saw Contagion. Good film. Lotsa mouthy smacky noises though. Lotsa "ooh! touchy touchy! look who's INFECTED!" shots too. Not to mention grey foam out of dead mouths. BUT on the whole, and since I saw it with a bouquet of science types including one of whom I think was a proper virologist, it was pretty good and all the science-y stuff was handled properly.
THere was that one part where my husband chaffed and rolled his eyes and said out loud "BUT THAT'S A PROTEIN! IDIOTS!" just a few lines of dialogue ahead of where the lead virologist said it was a protein. Ha ha. Hubris.
We also went walking around downtown DC too, as it was too soggy for proper apple picking after all. THAT was great and it was good to get the blood circulating.
We went to the grocery store thereafter and picked up supplies for the next few days (hopefully longer). AND as soon as we got home I fell down flat on my face (shoulder) for no good god damned reason and spilled my groceries all over the floor with all the grace of a cow falling from a third story window.
Incredulous, my sweet, beloved husband looked back at me, his own arms straining with the bags and bags of groceries he was in charge of... he said "what happened?"
To wit, my response: "I fell." which should have been obvious but clearly needed saying. Luckily, there were no other witnesses. ANd the groceries came though unbroken and largely in fine condition.
I was tired. I was starting to feel a creeping sensation of acknowledgement deep in my heart. A small, whispering voice is clearing her throat in the back of my head somewhere and she's getting ready to ask me: "this isn't really just a vacation, is it?"
No. It isn't, little voice. This is home now. The sun is out, the humidity is rockin', my skin has never been softer and I haven't seen lip balm in two weeks. This is home now. Finish unpacking. This is home. Home is here now.
And I start to feel claustrophobic, sortof. It's like I'm back to my analogy of the space ship again. Except this time I'm living in a small part of a big ship and my shuttle (the car) is my life-boat through which I'm to go to my various adventures and ports-of-call. And so I do. And so then a little shimmer of something solid comes at me from just outside my field of vision. And then WHAP it hits me and I'm surprised and I look for damage and there is none.
And when we arrive back at the apartment and move the GPS we see it. A big crack in the windshield.
Nice one, universe. Way to remind me that my magic is the only thing keeping me normal and that to get rid of one is to be entirely rid of the other. Thumbs up, assholes. I crack a little, too. My whole world cracks a little and there is the evidence grinning at me in a giant capital J on my windshield.
THIS is why it's hard for me to blend in. I'm supposed to be a normal human now and boring and even-tempered and with a solid grip on reality and this sort of stuff just goes WHAP! NO YOU'RE NOT! and runs away giggling.
Change is hard. Adjusting is hard. I suppose it has to be otherwise there'd be nothing to adjust to.
ON my new address card, I put the latin phrase: Ex timorum, cachinnorum.
It means loosely: out of fear, laughter.
I'll get there again. Today though, I've scheduled a windshield repair ($350? WTF?) and will now crawl into the bottom of a bowl of mac n cheese and sprinkle catnip on the floor and watch kitty writhe around in delight.
That is my plan, universe. Do what you will.