Uproot

The reality of my own, internal, utter homelessness, overwhelmed me today, late. I don't want to go back to Boston. I knew how strange and shabby Salt Lake is, and prepared myself. Still, knowing it and living it are not the same. There is no Place for me. Only people to be near.

I'll be fine, D is my home in all the ways that matter, I'm overtired, stressed, without furniture, spending too much of our cushion on necessities, too much time in malls and stores, not eating well, not wanting to eat.

We rented a car. I failed, scolded by a woman at the DMV, for not being able to get my local driver's license at that office. Got pillows and a quilt, close to where Dave lives, so were happy to give him his forgotten sunglasses. Ordered a couch - in marine blue. Cleaning products, a phone, tissues. In Boston, we knew from hard experience where, exactly, to go for this, over weeks, a trip at a time, with a cart. Here, we'd forgotten, much has changed in three years, and we are not in the same area we once knew, and that neighborhood has changed anyway. We tried to do everything today.

My mood drifted up all morning, flexible and cheerful. By this evening, my cheer wanes, thins, falls grey and flaccid.

I'm fine. I'll be fine. The mounting fears and discontents wash over. Moby hides today, slinks to his closet. D comforts, nursing his own terrors for school and work. He called the internet/cable people today, and I heard him twice explain "No, we don't have a TV." He'd already told him it was on the mover's truck, to be here Wednesday, hopefully. We miss our most excellent bed. Aerobeds are good, for a night or two.

We watch Sister Wendy, and I am soothed. She used to be shown after Dr. Who, long ago, before we were married, staying up late on Saturday together, talking, watching PBS. Her, and Rick Steves travel shows. We referred to them as the Buck-toothed nun and the Boring Traveler, as we loved watching them.

All the imperfections and trials of moving. Uprooting. We need sleep.