I’m not moving into my new house until the 1st, so I’ve been hanging out in Christina’s guest bedroom this week, both busily managing the business of a move — how many different places do I need to update my address? — and not at all busily recovering from a period of upheaval. It feels simultaneously relaxing and stressful, because the upheaval is not going to be over until I’m sleeping in my own bed, on my own sheets, with my own tea mug waiting to be used, but meanwhile, there’s not really a lot for me to do.

Except play ball with Sophie. And more ball with Sophie, and more ball with Sophie. In the tiny house, I always put the balls away the moment we returned from the park, because Sophie, in possession of a ball, is a persistent little monster. I can remember when she didn’t know what to do with a ball and had absolutely no interest in returning it to me one way or the other. That day has long since passed. The other day, I discovered three balls next to my leg when I finally stood up. She’d been bringing them to me hopefully, and when I ignored one, she went and found another. Riker owns a lot of balls  — and doesn’t appear to care about them at all — so Sophie has been amassing a collection of them in the guest room. We do play every day, but she would play all day, every day if she could. She needs a swimming pool! (Zelda used to play ball by herself in the pool, dropping a ball in, letting the pump current take it away, then jumping in and swimming after it.)

The big excitement, if it can be called that, has been the AirDotShow Tour. Christina mentioned it to me in a text as she was on her way out to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal. Totally casual, just:

C: FYI, there is going to be an air show in Sanford this weekend so the planes may be practicing over the next few days. Don’t worry, we aren’t at war.

Me: Lol, good to know! Probably wouldn’t have been my assumption, given that Sanford doesn’t exactly seem like a prime target for bombing runs but I guess you never know in this crazy time. 

Later,
Me: Those planes are seriously loud. 

And still later,
Me: Okay, and you were totally right. It sounds like the end of the world.

I have innumerable photos of blue sky over the house, from my failed attempt to catch a picture of the spiraling fighter jets or the team flying planes or any of the things that were making such incredible, incredible noises. This was the best I ever did.

I stopped trying after that, because this was the teeny-tiny plane that’s in that image.

The jets were bigger, but also so much faster that my little square of sky was always empty by the time my phone clicked for the photo. I wouldn’t exactly call it entertaining — at least not for those of us who got to listen to the incredible noise for four days running — but it was interesting.

Of course, I have also been trying to write. I am determined to finish Cici 2, and it’s going to happen, but it’s happening slowly. My real issue is that my daydreaming time has been taken up with worrying and ruminating, neither helpful. And really, I should be fair to myself and say “worrying” = “planning” and “ruminating” = “processing.” There are things to take care of — health insurance, driver’s license, etc. — and planning for how and when is not “worrying.” And “ruminating” — well, a lot happened and I know that letting myself feel my feelings about it is emotionally healthier than stuffing my feelings. Although it’s not even that so much as just trying to figure out my feelings.

Example: I keep laughing when I remember that one of Suzanne’s first moves was to unfollow me on Instagram and remove me from her followers. Seriously! Is that not so impressively petty? So… well, juvenile? Like we were teenagers or something. And honestly, it makes me laugh. I think I should probably feel badly about it, but I just don’t. It’s too stupid, and like a character in a bad novel.

And then I remember that my last encounter with her, presumably ever, will be her handing me legal papers kicking me out of the tiny house, when the car was already three-quarters packed and it was clear that I was almost gone. Like what is the point of that? Just throwing some salt on the wound? Gratuitously mean for the sake of being mean?

And then me saying, “Can I say good-bye to the dogs?” and her responding, “I’ll send them out. In ten minutes or so?” and me nodding. And then, honestly, I want to cry, because… we were friends for a long time. And I’m certainly grieving for those dogs that I loved, that I will never see again, but I’m grieving for the friend, too.

I guess it’s really just like a divorce — a person you cared about grew into someone that you stopped caring about, and when you say good-bye for the last time, it’s with the memories of who they once were. Impressively petty and mean is who I will have to remember her as being, but once upon a time, she was fun and cheerful and my favorite adventure buddy. I’m going to remember her that way, too, I just don’t quite know how yet.

Thus, the ruminating/processing.

Thus the not quite progressing enough on Cici.

And now I’m going to go back to writing Cici, because there are plenty of hours in the day left, and I will finish this book. Someday! Maybe even someday soon!