There are parts of my brain I wish I could shut off with the flip of a switch or something. The part that worries over, gnaws and mumbles old bones of connundra, for example. No matter how hard I try not to waste mental energy on trying to guess the answers to questions I am never going to see answered, I turn around and it's at it again. It's worse than when you've got a jigsaw puzzle piece that just doesn't fit anywhere, but you can't put it down and move on, you simply keep turning it over and turning it round, and trying it again in all the spots you've already tried, just in case the universe has blinked and it will suddenly fit in one of them now. It doesn't fit; it isn't going to fit - what's more, it doesn't even belong to this puzzle, things got mixed up at the factory and while it looks like it belongs, it just doesn't. This 5000 piece puzzle box contained 5001 pieces, and you've got the one that, short of scissors or serious scrunching simply Will Not Fit, so give it up already. "One of these things is not like the others" sort of gets out of hand on a large enough scale, doesn't it?
So a friend of mine is moving back to Bellingham - repatriating, as it were. It's something he's wanted for a while, to set up his work life to be able to transfer there; I hope it succeeds in providing him happiness. He could seriously use some happiness. It isn't a move I could make, I find myself thinking. Partly because despite my stout protests that life is not a linear progression toward some sort of lofty pinnacle of perfection, I have the feeling that for me it would be a step backwards. I have managed to make my peace with Seattle, and I find I actually kind of like it. I still don't think of myself as particularly "urban" - certainly not in the sense of sophistication, polish or smoothness of manner - but I suppose under the majority of definitions I am. It is certainly much easier to get from hither to yon under my own flag and for my own convenience while living downtown. If I do ever remove myself to the wilderness for domicile again, I'll likely have to break down and obtain some sort of vehicle as well as the requisite licenses.
I'm still hoarse - I've got a weeks course of Prednisone and the promise of being shipped off to a specialist if that doesn't clear things up. Whee-la, corticosteroids! Both the doctor and the pharmacist warned me to warn my friends and co-workers that I'm taking this stuff because it might be mood altering - some people get extremely irritable, others get euphoric. I seem to fall into the latter camp, people have been commenting on how perky I've been all day. I'm not doing a whole lot of sleeping at the moment either, you might notice. Forget Wellbutrin and Effexor, just put me on this stuff for mood elevation! I'm guessing she prescribed it for the anti-inflamatory properties, so my throat doesn't get irritated, swell shut and suffocate me, among other things.
Labor day weekend. Fall is sneaking up on us - I've felt it in the undertone of the last two mornings... It's my favorite season, and not just because of my birthday.
Speaking of October, I bought the plane tickets for the Smithsonian trip today. So we're going, we're really really going. Top of my list are the Natural History Museum, Air and Space, and the Zoo. I also want to see the castle and the sculpture garden. Of course Mom gets a big say in where-all we go and in what order, but our tastes run similarly enough that I can't imagine it being troublesome. Plus it all sounds interesting to look at; really, that's part of the point of why we're going - it's sort of this intellectual mecca to which we must make a pilgrimage. The hotel is quite posh, but that's a bit deliberate on my part as well. Sybarite, that's me.