Leaving

Eight days until we move. I guess the insomnia portion of the stress must be setting in, as I've been awake for an hour and yawning like crazy, but as soon as I lay (lie? that particular word's never been one of my strong points) down I'm wide awake.

All things considered, we're actually in pretty good shape for the move. We're probably about 80-85% packed, the house in Ashland is ready for us, and we've got the next week pretty well planned out. But because I am a congenital worrier, I'm not relaxing. For one thing, I'm afraid there won't be a truck for us when we go to pick it up. We're renting a U-Haul, because we don't really have any other decent options, and they tend to do their U-Haul thing, which is to not have the truck you reserved and then just kind of shrug and pretty much tell you to go pound sand when you ask why the hell they bother with reservations and do they think people just rent these things on a whim, like "Oh, let's rent a U-Haul and circle Madison 6 times on Sunday; it's supposed to be a beautiful day," and what the fuck do they expect you to do now? I'm hoping that doesn't happen.

Also, I'm thinking about how different it will be to live up there. We're going from a city with a population of about 220,000 to a town of 8000, in close proximity to bears and wolves and fishing boats and a lot of forest. Kevin doesn't like it here in Madison, but I kind of do. Not enough to talk him into staying, or even necessarily to want to stay here permanently myself, but it's a nice place to live.

I'll miss the farmer's market, which is the best of any I've ever seen. I'll miss Glass Nickel pizza and Lazy Jane's scones, and the Tex Tubb's taco palace, and sushi, just in general. I'll miss Mickey's Tavern, the Crystal Corner, the Paradise. I'll really miss Em and Corey and Ike.

I will not miss the co-op, where everything tastes like self-righteousness. I won't miss traffic or spending 20 minutes in the car to get halfway across town--20 minutes in the car in Ashland will put you 2 towns over. I won't miss the crowds at the farmer's market, which make it like a weekly excursion to a Ukrainian bread line. I won't miss the undergrads, or the freaking Badger games in the fall. I really won't miss the heat and humidity.

I have high hopes for Ashland. I wonder if moving somewhere with the idea of permanence makes a difference in how well it turns out. I guess we'll find out.

Ow.

You know what I hate? I hate it when you're in some crappy, dimly lit bar and as you're walking to the door to go home, you trip over the completely unmarked, dark-carpeted four-inch step that visually stands out from the rest of the floor in no way, and you completely bite it, going down hard and sending your purse flying, and the nice gay man who helps you up has that "Oh, you poor drunk" look in his eyes, and you know that everyone is thinking "Hey, have another!", and you want to put on a big flashing sign that says "I'm not even close to drunk, this is a poorly constructed floor!"

But there are no such signs, and it doesn't matter now anyway because the end result is the same--an Ace bandage and ice on my swollen, jacked-up knee. If the pain is equivalent to the level of damage done, moving in two weeks will be lots of fun.

Oh, Rush, you appalling specimen, you.

Rush Limbaugh, who just signed a 400 million dollar eight-year contract, refers to himself as "talent on loan from God."


Really.


If God exists, I desperately wish he would do something about all of his douchebag hangers-on. I highly doubt that any deity worth his or her salt would want an angry fat man in his third marriage, with a penchant for hollering about declining morals while popping illegal OxyContin, serving as his or her PR guy.