I realized that I have been A Bad Blogger. Actually, I’ve been A Bad Blogger for pretty much all of the entire last year, but now that classes are over I no longer have graduate school to blame for it.  And I realize that if I don’t force myself, my internal monologue may take over (which may or may not have been the plot of the most recent episode of House).

Well, here is what you haven’t missed: I moved last week, out of the house in Round Rock that I lived in for ten years. Although Ray and I ‘officially’ separated in January, in many ways this was the actual physical manifestation of that separation, delayed four months. And it was hard. I’d really rather not talk about it, so I’m not going to. There was some weeping on my part, and Wednesday, the day of the actual move out, was a very hard day. So was the next. But the day after that was a little better, and I had a good weekend, and slowly, I’m moving in a generally upward direction, and that’s really all I can ask for right now.

The place itself is coming together very slowly. Not surprisingly, the days until my phone and internet got turned on (Saturday) were significantly more productive in the unpacking department than afterward. I’m pretty much down to the point where I’m suffering from the double-whammy of needing one more bookcase in the office as well as a similar sort of storage/display thingy for the dining room, plus the fact that just about everything critical has been unpacked and what’s left is inspiring this process:

• open box
• move top item to look underneath
• sigh
• replace top item
• close box
• open beer
• turn on television

As for the photos of my new place that some folks have demanded, those will have to wait. My friend Kristi, who is a designer, has absolutely forbidden me from hanging any photographs without her expert opinion.  I’m inclined to believe her, too, since right now I’m not too thrilled with the arrangement that I had in mind originally, so I’m gonna let it go until she comes to help me with that.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, let me tell you about the play.

Oh! I got A’s in both of my courses this semester. Not that it’s any huge surprise, but it’s always nice to be vindicated – somehow I did manage to get through this semester successfully, emotional turmoil and all.

So, I’ll try to be a better blogger this summer.  We’ll see how I do.

So, I’m back. Did ya miss me?

I may have just finished my final paper for the semester. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, but I had such bad writer’s block trying to squeeze this puppy out that it’s a wonder it got midwifed at all.  The fact that I’m now flirting with the upper page limit (bless you, Dr. T, for telling us you’ll stop reading on the 17th page!) is either a sign that I really did have something to say or that I suffer from chronic diarrhea of the word processor.  I’m pretty sure I know which, too, but I’m going to pretend otherwise.

So, that’s it. One 28 page behemoth that I turned in last week, much to the ire and irritation of classmates who can’t believe I turned it in well before it was due, and one that needs to be off my desk by noon tomorrow when I set off for a 24 hour trip to Fort Worth.

Oh, and I’m moving next week.

For those who were wondering–it’s OK if you have–I’m still in the guest bedroom in the house I share with Ray (because referring to him as “my now-ex” is just weird and invites all sorts of questions I’m kind of sick of answering).  I saw a bit by Carrie Fisher on a plane once where she talked about being in that place where all of your friends develop heavy hair on one side and appear to be incapable of talking to you with their heads fully upright:

<tilts to the side>How are you? Are you doing OK?
<bobs head> Yup.

Actually, that’s the part that really annoys me–I’m giving myself whiplash bobbing my head so much in response. Because the side effect of heavy hair is spring neck.

I’m still paying my therapist a lot of money to process my feelings about everything, but it’s definitely weird. I kind of wish I could just fast-forward about three weeks and be in my new place (much closer to town and work) and have all of my furniture (long story. Here’s the short version: when I bought my new sofa they told me that they wouldn’t have it in stock until May 15. I’m moving on May 9. But when I got the e-mail to go online and select the delivery date, they let me choose May 9. So far, it (still) says everything is confirmed. But I have this sneaking suspicion I’m not actually going to know until May 9 whether I’m going to be spending a week–or two–sitting on the floor Moroccan style because otherwise I’ll have all of two chairs. Count ‘em: one-two.  I have a dining table that seats eight. I haven’t bought chairs for it yet. I should close this parenthesis now.)

As for being single and dating again?  <shudder>  I was never good at being single.  I have no idea how to be single.  I certainly have no idea how to be thirty seven and single.  There’s a twenty-two year old guy in my history program who gets laid on the hour.  I … can’t do that.  To begin with, I have a job, and secondly … well, it’s easier when you’re twenty-two and cute.

The other thing is that I probably need to figure out how to be on my own again before I can figure out how to date.  So.  This summer on “Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga,” me figuring out how to be on my own again.  Also, buying chairs.

Stay tuned.