Warm Weather & Pretty Dresses

The Hawaii time crunch is getting real.  But so is the Hawaii money crunch.  Each of those UHaul shipping pod thingies is like $7k+ to ship, and they only allow you 2k pounds *including* the shipping container (so that’s, like how much? They don’t tell you) AND there’s no way you can weigh it, AND it’s unclear what the consequences are for being too heavy. Like…do they just charge you extra, or drop it into the middle of the ocean haha.  Each of our cars is about $2k to ship, BUT we can save somewhere between 5 and 8 hundred by driving them to LA ourselves.  Here’s what that conversation looks like:

We don’t have enough time to drive them out AND fly back to Flagstaff AND get ourselves to Phoenix to fly out of Sky Harbor, so we should get everything else done and the shipping boxes sent, and then drive everything out to LA last, drop them off, then Uber to the airport from there.  

Maybe — but what about the fires?  What about the race riots?  What about the black outs?  What about the traffic that is normally bad, but could be much worse with many many areas evacuated and normal arteries overwhelmed?  

Well — no matter how many people are trying to travel West in California, it can’t be as many as are traveling East to escape, right?

So that’s funny, in a way.  Also, pet emigration events necessitate that we make our flight, and not only that, but we have to tell Customs a month in advance exactly what that flight is.  We can’t arrive on a weekend or after 5pm, because if we hope to have our little dogs released to us from the airport, part of that is coordinating an examination for them, there, once we arrive.  This is to expensively bookend the examination they must receive, here, within ten days of our flight.  And that Hawaii “direct airport release” vet ain’t tryna work evenings and weekends, you know.  And we have to commit to that date the month in advance, to receive our permit for them to travel with, along with a bunch of money, evidence of vaccines and titers, and a form.  

So, the prospect of having everything hinge on making this flight and not missing it for any reason…and then adding into the mix all the chaos and complexity of California on fire, in every sense, sounds like a recipe for Nick to go postal on the freeway, to me.  I hope he continues to do some work on his volatility but in the meantime, it’s just one more factor to consider.  I imagine that even an actually peaceful protest, obstructing the interstate, could find itself on the receiving end of Nuclear Nick, in the event of literally everything about our move, and the work and planning of months, hinging on making a particular flight.  

It would all be a lot simpler without the bugaboos, or if we were asshole parents who didn’t care if our dogs were beaurocratically quarantined for four months, but there’s no hassle on earth that isn’t fully validated every single minute by their amazing X factor in our lives.  I mean, we ourselves have to quarantine (AS IF THAT TERM MAKES ANY FUCKING SENSE IN THIS CONTEXT.  I kind of hate that I’m just throwing it around as if it’s at all valid, and doesn’t, actually, represent the worst kind of tyranny with the threat of more to follow), yes, quarantine (I can’t sneer it out enough) for fourteen days on arrival, and honestly I don’t much care?  I just look forward to that moment when the bugaboos themselves are released to us from the much worse situation they could potentially face, and then…bugaboos in Hawaii!!??!  I mean, literally nothing could be more magical.  

When Nick and I were there in March and things were locking down like dominoes, we honestly considered staying and probably just getting stranded in Hawaii.  I mean, we found a van on Craigslist we could have bought for $800.  It would have been fine.  The only reason we didn’t was the animals.  

Now, the fact is we didn’t yet have Milo at the time — he was still on a steady diet of basement — and we had our cat, Kimp, who we are unable to take to Hawaii until we own property.  The rental situation for cat owners is not conducive.  So he’s in good hands for now and it’s bittersweet.  

He’s the most wonderful cat to be *home* with, and the worst cat in the world to *travel* with — and we traveled all the way across the United States with him, camping no less.  He’s not terrible every minute, but the relationship between him and Nick is what makes it terrible.  Nick can’t stand to hear him suffer — we have to pull over, or change everything we’re doing, move everything in the truck, so that Kimp won’t suffer — but Kimp absolutely will not stop suffering, because he’s a large, mostly unintelligent male cat, in a truck, moving at highway speed.  So, his suffering and failure to understand what’s happening to him is enormous, and Nick’s ability to withstand Kimp’s suffering is nonexistent, and it all…comes to a head in various ways.  I love cats and I love that particular cat, but I can hear him suffer.  I have that ability.  When we’ve done everything we can to make him comfortable and the suffering won’t stop until we get where we’re going, because he’s a cat, I can just turn the music up.  

Anyway, the separation from him is sad but good too, because he’s very happy.  There’s just no cat like him, on earth I think.  He’s utterly gentle — he doesn’t even kill bugs.  He’s 100% lazy and also 100% bizarre.  He’s black and white and looks Chinese in the face.  He is a very house-y house cat, also able to take himself outside and survive and enjoy for days, probably weeks, but very oriented to us and particularly Nick.  

We lived in a large barn-like house, in Albuquerque — all one huge room with high ceilings and an open loft bedroom on one end.  Huge windows set up high in the walls, and also low, light everywhere.  It was a gorgeous house, which I’ll always miss.  Anyway, Nick and Kimp had this call-and-response they’d do, recreationally, all the time, from different parts of the house:

“Kimp.”

“Rawr.”

“Kimp!”

“Rrawwr!”

“KEEE-UMP.”

“Wrowoworawr!

“[….kimp}”

“[…rar]”  

It would just go on and on.  Kimp understood he wasn’t being “called”, he just stayed stretched out to his full length of seemingly nine feet, sounding off.  Aw.  But he’s happy.  It’s okay.

His purring was not much quieter than our generator on this shower truck.  I had finally evolved, after several semesters of oblique hazing, a perfect work lifestyle — “teaching” online during the week, with range on weekends, so I had many occasions to relax in bed with my computer, an aggressively purring cat, and the little white comma of Buffy, who mostly preferred to be so close to her personal micathermic space heater, in her personal bed, that we feared she’d suffer brain damage.  She would simply rotisserie herself through the day and night, becoming alarmingly hot on various planes of her body, insensate to most input.  The winters in Albuquerque are very cold.  She’d never ask to go out so I’d simply pick her up and place her outside at intervals, where she would “come to” long enough to have an occasional bodily function.  

I say “teaching” in scare quotes because teaching CDL stuff online is…its own thing.  The curriculum had largely been established as stuff they could all work their own way through, but I evolved a system of posting videos of myself explaining various parts of more complex assignments, and just doing a lot of video in general, to make it less impersonal.  Anyway, having a lot of time at home, in such a beautiful house, while wonderful indeed could not have been as magical as it was without that cat, laying around and purring.  So many good feelings — and mixed feelings, because we had a lot of strife when we lived there, too — and it’s pretty crazy that I won’t see that house again.  

Oh, which is kind of the point — so Nick and I realized yesterday that, as our window of time closes, and the window of money stays wide open on this burner of a fire, that we’re going to have to split up.  That’s the only way.  Our boss is going to send a replacement for Nick in about a week, and he’s going to head back and start tackling all the bullshit, while I stay here and keep pulling down money.  There’s pet immigration documents to assemble, our entire household in Albuquerque to dissassemble, my dad’s entire household in Flagstaff to sort through, UHaul pods to pack, multiple vehicles to be shipped from LA, and just all the work of preparing to move off-continent.  

Damn, it just occurred to me — he should probably take both dogs.  Yeah, he’ll have to do that, in case this fire lasts as long as they’re saying, and to ensure she gets her exam prior to the trip.  So I’ll lose him, Milo, AND Buffy (who is, at this very moment, rotisserie-ing herself in front of the propane space heater, despite it being very warm here in the mornings.  She’s exactly like me, but in dog form).  And I’ll lose the weight set too.  I’ll have to remain light enough that I can fly back if need be.  

Nick is utterly trustworthy and such a workhorse.  We’re all very lucky to have him.  I mean, I have no doubt that he’ll get the things I want in the UHaul box IN the box, the things I want in luggage in the luggage, and the things I don’t need put in storage in Flagstaff.  He’s magnificent with this kind of thing.  I’m not, really.  I’m more like “jesus christ” and can get overwhelmed.  But what I am magnificent at, is sitting on fires and making money while feeling consistently happy and self-engaged.  I’m not a nervous temperament.  So it’s definitely for the best, but I’ll miss him a lot.  I hope they don’t send a pain in the ass person to replace him.  Whoever it is, I’ll have to co-exist with them 24/7, ugh.  

A gal friend asked me the other day if we’re rushing because we expect some chaos after the election, and I was like…yes?, but no?, but maybe?  I mean, for one thing, once winter sets in, in Flagstaff, eevveerryytthhiinngg sucks, especially trying to move and travel and simply exist.  So that’s a natural fact.  And then the election, I don’t know.  Everyone was being dramatic and saying they’d move if Trump won, last time, and none of them moved, and aside from some clumps of people crying and wearing black it was all fine.  This time, I don’t know.  

It’s kind of like this.  A Facebook and longstanding IRL friend of mine, who feels it’s possible and right-minded to support both BLM *and* law and order — this makes sense in his brain somehow — posted a thing that was like a map of Portland.  It was a huge map, because Portland’s a big city, and one tiny area of marked off in red, and he was like: that’s where the unrest has occurred.  Your media news sources want to make it out to be this wave of arson and boorish humanity threatening the entire city, but that’s wrong.  It’s only in this one little area.  I exercised forbearance, but I did read through the things people had to say, which expounded upon all perspectives with perfect adequacy.  

I mean, it’s possible to think all sorts of things about this, right?  Like: oh, that’s not that bad.  It’s just this little hot spot, like a totally contained fire.  (Someone else uploaded a map of all the federal buildings that have been targeted in Portland, which expanded the footprint of this “unrest” quite a bit, from the original image, meanwhile.)  But like, okay — to scale, looks like hardly anyone’s been affected.  

The things that remain un-captured by that map, though, are significant and enormous.  Like, the pressure to defund police, and how that affects the entire community, not only now but in compounding ways, into the future.  City Council cut 15 or 16 million from the Portland PD budget in June, due to woke pressure.  In July, there were 3x as many shootings as in the previous July, with 2/3rds of the victims being black.  It’s difficult to capture the invisible costs — the reduction of Portland PD’s ability to respond, lags in their response time, being spread thin due to the budget cuts and certainly due to the staffing necessary for over 100 straight nights of rioting in however large or small of an area.  Some BLM apologists on the thread were like, “stop being alarmists, it’s all peaceful protests during the day and these other elements only come out at night —“ yeah, like every fucking night —“and that’s different from BLM, so don’t blame the movement.”  Stuff like that.

I could go on, but what I’m saying is, you probably wouldn’t look at an X-ray or some test results with your doctor and say, “Oh, the part of my body that’s fucked up and not working is only this little gidget here — stop being an alarmist.”  It IS a body, it’s all connected, and so is the social, legal, and Constitutional fabric of our society.  You probably get what I’m saying, which is essentially: oh, it’s just this area here, huh?  Great.  Well what the fuck else is that “little area” connected to?  It would be a pretty big deal if cops were randomly attacking black people in that “little area”, wouldn’t it?  It’s all relative, depending on your level of apologism FOR… the chronic breakdown of law and order.  It is connected, and it’s connected to a lot of other “little” hotspots, which are connected to some funding and some people in high places running logistical and legal interference for the boots on the ground, and that’s connected to an agenda which considers our entire nation, if not more, to be its acceptable level of collateral damage, and which apparently is out of savvier cards to play, and is instead just…you know the scenes in the movies where one guy is running from the other guy, and the guy trying to escape just pulls down huge shelves as he goes, to slow down the guy in pursuit?  It’s a lot of crashing and banging and clambering over obstacles and desperate, last-minute tactics?  It’s like that.  This is zero sophistication, 100% panic, and the police, neighborhoods, black people, white people, businesses, budgets, safety, law, order — none of it means shit to the people with the agenda, who are currently on the defense, clearly.    

So, the whole election is kind of like that, to me.  Is it a big deal?  I think so.  What’s it connected to?  I don’t know, but the Pope just copped to the widespread sexual abuse and, in some cases, actual sexual *enslavement* of nuns, throughout the Catholic organization.  What kind of pressure makes that happen?  It took centuries to get those fuckers to admit they rape little boys institutionally, and now they’re just gonna up and admit they’re raping nuns too?  (Of course they are.)  From the goodness of their hearts, they’re acknowledging this?

Cthulhu is frightened and angry, and that’s not good for any of us, although it’s necessary and long overdue.  It’s the Vatican, the Royal Families, Hollywood, the Deep State, the whole shebang.  

Honestly I think my dad is surprised that we youngn’s have had the wherewithal to recognize this.  He’s been stoically preparing for the big [whatever] for years, while Abe and I largely indulged him (our loving but brainwashed response), and he hasn’t tried to convert us or convince us of anything, just like we don’t try to convert him to veganism.  We all just live and let live, and if he wants to stockpile literally an insane amount of bacon and kerosene, we’re not gonna stand in his way.  So he’s bucked, a little, about circling our wagons in Hawaii, even after initially agreeing.  I mean, our minds were blown that he even considered it, and then he’s felt overwhelmed, off and on, since, attempting to entirely bow out on several occasions.  I’ve been staunch in my responses: I think we need to all be together.  I’d rather be together in Hawaii than freezing my tits off in Flagstaff, and Abe’s already there, but wherever we are, we need to be together.  He’s just been surprised.  He’s like, “I knew that, but I didn’t know you knew that,” type thing.

So, his mood has improved enormously since we informed him Nick will be swooping in to air traffic control the logistics on this shit, and he knows we’re doing the right thing.

Also I don’t think it’s just me making timelines and deadlines around the election.  Schools can reopen *after* the election, but ostensibly because of a COVID reason?  They’re rushing to get the vaccine out *before* the election?  The governor of New York won’t release amended COVID data until *after* the election?  Come the fuck on.  It’s an enormous chess game, and it’s only about one thing, which is Dems rigging the shit out of the election any way they can, because they’re so fucked if they lose it.  Because it’s not Democrats losing an election; it’s Cthulhu, losing leverage, pulling loaded shelves over behind itself as it runs from its steady, dogged pursuer.  I’ve always said, and still say: If I’m wrong, that’s just great.  I’d love to be wrong about this.  That would make me very happy.  I’m not addicted to the drama of a conspiracy theory, but I’m also not incognizant of the one single narrative that makes a lot of otherwise senseless things make perfect sense.    

Now, there’s really no reason that Hawaii is any better than anywhere else, and it might even be worse, but here’s where my head’s at on that: the best pessimistic defense is a good optimistic offense, spiritually and realistically.  All of these problems, whether real or imagined; whether rightly concerning or simple “hot spots” on a map; represent reasons to get up, live well, connect more deeply, and evolve ourselves dramatically.  There’s no problem in life whose solution doesn’t incorporate, at least partly, “live better, be better”.  

One of my favorite bloggers in times past, Steve Pavlina (a programmer turned self-help guru, because there are so many parallels between HTML code and underlying belief systems) always emphasized environment over individual heroism or villainy, so to speak.  In other words, we should strive to create an environment for ourselves which makes our desired state of being inevitable, rather than seeking to overcome obstacles per se.  Culturally, of course, we fetishize those among us who have conquered the most obstacles, but Pavlina says, you shouldn’t even put yourself in that situation.  Surround yourself with people, influences, possessions, information, and situations that call you forward into your desired state of being, and then simply relax and evolve!  

While that may be difficult, it’s actually easier than doing spiritual/psychological surgery on ourselves.  If we knew what was wrong, it wouldn’t be wrong; if we knew what to fix, it wouldn’t need fixing.  The danger in overcoming obstacles is that that can become an obstacle in its own right.  Like a savior complex in relationships, but worse because we’re always saving ourselves.  The feeling of ease, the feeling of freedom, the feeling of abundance is what we need to practice, and we can’t practice it when we’re busy over-identifying with the feeling of “narrow escape”, “Joe vs the volcano”, “the eternal martyr”, all of that.  Totally different vibrations.

So, long story short, some of the best advice for any kind of problem is, “get happy”.  That sounds so simplistic it’s insulting, infuriating even, but tough shit, that’s the deal.  Get happy.  That’s how you break through that cloud layer and become available for resources and rendezvous at a much higher level, while everyone else is still warring around in the rain, below.  One truly visionary person can pull a heavier dogsled, and more easily, than any number of conflicted reality-apologists.  And for whatever reason, the prospect of Hawaii emboldens the visionary optimist in each of us (me, Nick, my brother, my dad), albeit in radically different ways.

So for me, it’s really simple.  If I don’t figure out how to be warm all the time, and wear pretty dresses all the time, I’m gonna burn Portland to the ground myself.  I was born in Wyoming and I’ve been pissed at the cold ever since.  You’d think I would have just moved to Miami and call it good but no, I’ve been living in the coldest places, doing the most pain in the ass outdoor jobs, nights, weekends, and holidays too, and it’s taken years for me to figure out that the things I want are actually so basic, it’s embarrassing to even claim them.  We all encourage each other to frame ourselves in such complicated ways, and the truth has only emerged for me by going in the other direction and making it really simple.  All other things notwithstanding, I want to be warm and wear pretty dresses.  This is, like, the base of my personal Maslowe’s hierarchy pyramid.  I can be a straight up badass in all sorts of trades work and creative work and a major generator of ideas, but if I’m in the wrong place, I’m reduced all the way down to, essentially, a Buffy state of baseline zero: rotisserie-ing myself in front of a space heater and deliberately insensate to all unwanted input.

For Nick: I psychologically hate being cold, but Nick’s physical body refuses to function anywhere but the beach.  He grew up on the coast and his mucus membranes continue to hold him hostage to that, even after years in the Southwest.  It’s not so much a cold thing or a hot thing, it’s a breathing thing; a skin thing, an eye thing.  He can’t fucking see in the Southwest, the sun is like a laser, the wind is like a knife, the aridity is like someone violently shoving broken potato chips into his nose, and his skin cracks and bleeds like that’s its full time job.  He just wraps tape around his hands and fingers as a matter of course, simply so he doesn’t bleed all over everything.  All of this goes away when he’s on the beach, particularly when he spends time in the ocean.  He’s like a sleek bro-seal, happily breathing and seeing and enjoying the integrity of his own skin.  

Additionally, he feels very drawn to sustainability projects like gardening, hydroponics, water catchment, etc.  I feel very drawn to eating shit tons of produce but I don’t really care where it comes from, although having our own garden source would be amazing.  I mean, I’ve never had that relationship with my food, so probably it’s a desire that I’m not even consciously aware of.  It would be pretty great to eat a huge salad everyday that came from fifteen feet away.  We tried some gardening in Albuquerque, but the season was short, we had to travel, the landlord didn’t water, everything died.  In Hawaii, yes the cost of food is high, but the growing season never stops!  I think, with a little initial money and sweat equity, we can eat very well, for very cheap, and have a relationship with our own food that most modern humans only dream of — or worse, like me, don’t dream of, because it’s so rare.  

All the reasons to defer this kind of climate gratification in favor of x y z career path or business venture have deteriorated, for all of us.  He was on a FaceTime call with his family yesterday and his older brother was like, “So…what are you gonna do, in Hawaii?”

Nick was like, “What am I gonna do, anywhere?  Put my back and all my money into something the government just uses to fuck me with?”  And, conversely, Nick’s formidable skill sets translate anywhere, so Hawaii itself is no barrier.  I’m sure just as many people want to become stronger there as in the CONUS, and probably just as many former addicts need mentoring as well.  He’s like me — he can make a go of it anywhere, but his personal misery level is very high in the wrong climate.  

Nick was pursuing psychology and social work type education when we met, and for many former addicts this is an attractive pathway.  “What went wrong with me?  How can I help others in the same situation, and also make money, and also rise above all these drug charges and felonies and incarcerations on my record?”  I was obviously supportive of that but I was also like “everything they teach you is dark ages bullshit and you should just subscribe to Teal Swan’s channel and go next-level, if you really want to help people.”  Not being flippant, I really believe that.  

But then he flirted with Engineering, then the school he was at sucked for that, and indeed sucked for many things because it’s nothing if not woke.  When an engineering class spends two weeks on Academic Integrity and opinions about the definition of Teamwork, you know shit’s fucked up.  And then he dropped everything to move out of state with a much older woman he’d only known for two months, which was highly alarming to his family, friends, and indeed himself — then he got a job but was cancelled when his own director at the rehab where he’d worked fucked him over with a negative reference — AFTER agreeing to be a positive reference!!  What a chickenshit, and indeed the residential rehab industry is chock full o’ charlatans.  After some miscellaneous floundering around, he simply started his own strength training business and was wildly successful.  The best part was, people came for the coaching and stayed for the mentoring.  Nick has a deep, innate desire to authentically connect to others and encourage them forward spiritually most of all, so his clients were positively impacted across the board.  

His epiphany with strength training was similar to mine, with warm weather and pretty dresses.  Just that, everything else aside, he’s gonna go nuts if he doesn’t have that one thing in his life everyday.  It’s nice to surrender those parts of our identity that are less true, in favor of those parts that are more true.      

Also and finally, he’s a very social creature who loves connection and helping people deeply, and my family represents an extremely receptive audience for all of his skillsets, both developed and undeveloped.  His own family, while very loving, is a little more bound up in convention, let’s say.  Or, a better way to put it is, no family is less bound up in convention than mine.  Lol.   

For my brother: I think he has a greater capacity to “be happy anywhere” than the rest of us put together BECAUSE he’s so insular, and has a job that’s able to remain so sedentary, which is both a blessing and a curse.  It’s not so much Abe vs the environment (as with Nick and I) as it is Abe vs a more or less full expression of his own embodied existence.  Like Teal Swan says, some of our most functional adaptations can *become* maladaptations, as our circumstances improve, and Abe’s insular, largely mental-plane adaptations, which served him well in both Flagstaff and Seattle — because those climates SUCK — stand to be gently dismantled, on the coast.  He posted a new profile pic yesterday and he looks so sun-kissed, so dewy, so relaxed.  You just can’t not be more in your body, on the coast, in the most wonderful way.  I think dating culture is going to be much more positive, in big-guy, Polynesian-influenced Hawaii, than in Seattle where you have to be, like, a Skeksi from the Dark Crystal, who’s really artsy and Dem and frail and masculinity-denying to negotiate the woke feminine minefield.  I’m totally generalizing, of course, but just based on some of the things my brother has actually experienced there, you’ve got a fucking target on your back, as a white male Trump supporter in Seattle.  Talk about a hostile work environment.  I think Nick and he will get along just great, and a lot of strength training (because Nick is like hurricane stronks, where all victims in his path simply become additional stronks) will scratch both their itches.    

So, I don’t think Abe really cares about Hawaii per se as much as Nick and I do, but all the things he really does care about can be more easily lived, there.  

My dad: the last thing he wants, ALMOST, is to be where, as he puts it, “the land is 100% active volcano, the ocean is 100% active shark, and everything is 100% expensive”.  That’s fair.  *However*, the actual last thing he wants is for any of us to be vulnerable to a financial reset, a political coup, a civil war, a domestic or foreign EMP blast, anything along those lines.  My dad hasn’t relinquished ultimate parental responsibility for us, despite our advancing ages lol.  I realized this when he tried to find me in a Tucson nail salon — I could see him from where I had my feet in the pedicure bath, but he couldn’t see me — and he was attempting to describe me to the proprietor of the establishment.  I saw him hold his hand up to about where a nine year old would stand.  I was like 41 at the time, and had been significantly taller than that for decades.  And obviously he knows that, I hug him all the time.  It’s just that somehow, when asked to describe me, he reflexively went with, you know, a nine year old Hannah version.  He wants us to be okay and to be together.

The best part is, I don’t think he actually realizes how much he’ll love the warm, moist air, the non-laser sun, the constant birdsong, the pockets of ambrosia-like fragrance you pass in and out of, just walking along among the foliage and flowers.  The flowers are riotous.  The growing!  He’ll love to grow things there, and might even start eating plants again, although bacon will be in steady rotation no doubt.  The spoiling of the granddogs is a real thing.  I don’t know if he’ll get in the ocean?  Maybe just up to his knees, but probably not because the surf is quite a pounder there.  Where we’re renting at first, there’s this beach that Nick and I visited many times, in March.  It has a real name — Magic Sands or something — but Nick and I just called it “tourist carnage beach” because is was just ass over teakettle all the time, and in very shallow water.  Yeah, we’ll steer my dad clear of that.  But there are calm places too.  No way will he snorkle.  I’d be shocked.  His faith in being bitten by a shark or stung by a jellyfish is so strong, and so clear, and so perfect, he’d probably manifest that out of nowhere.

Despite all that, he loves to play his keyboard, smoke his pipe, make truly alarming quantities of resin art incorporating everything from organite to Christmas bows, and he adores the little dogs as much as he adores us.  He regards our extraction of Milo from the basement as being “the single greatest event in the history of the world”.  He actually said that.  It definitely was the single hardest event in the history of the world.  That’s a long story.  

So yes, it’s interesting how events and circumstances have conspired to create, for us, either a situation of increased fragmentation and uncertainty or, if we seize the day, a surrendering of a bunch of stuff that matters less in favor of some stuff that matters more.  And it’s fascinating to me how hundreds if not thousands of little nudges from the universe, some that felt helpful and some that felt hostile, cooperated to render this plan visible, let alone actionable.  And as I said before, but it’s worth saying again — I don’t think it’s just me making the election into a multi-dimensional deadline.  I’m just going with it.  

Now that Nick and I have decided to divide and conquer, I have another week to enjoy his presence here and then maybe up to a month or more to languish in all the money I’m making while he TKO’s our to-do list all over the Southwest, where his eyes will burn and his nose will plug and his skin will crack and bleed for hopefully the last time, vacations notwithstanding.  I trust him to get all my dresses packed up right, and my dad’s orgonite.  I think I take after my dad, in that I really don’t care about possessions per se except in one arbitrary area, and then I have more than ten people could ever need in that area.  Whatever, that’s fine.

I look forward to launching an audio/video version of this blog at a later point this year or next year, from birdsong central, and slowly beginning to take the most fantastic place in the world for granted, as will be my right as a denizen of Hawaii.  And I’m sorry you all have to hear about this so much but it’s a pretty big deal, for me and for us.  We never even took vacations, to the coast or anywhere else, as a family — that was always dismissed as “rich people stuff”.  Our hobbit-like relatives are still in disbelief and truly doubt, I think, that we’ll pull this off.  I mean, we’re like…oil field okies, who grew up in single wide trailers at best, and the sound of my childhood was the sound of whistling wind.  I feel like I’m about to rob a damn bank, with this plan — it’s that astounding.  I’m a little in disbelief myself, but not enough to slow down the train.    

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