I don’t even know where to begin, Reader.

I don’t know if we start the story where we are today or go backwards to the beginning, or just start in the middle.

All that I do know for sure is that I don’t know anything for sure. I cannot predict a damn thing.

Had you told me at the beginning of 2019 that I’d pack up my convertible and be living in Florida, I would have sworn you were on too much of that crack. But that’s exactly what ended up happening, and while I had NO IDEA how it was going to work, what I’ve learned is that each day you just do the things you can to keep moving forward and you get to a point where you look back and see the small things you did and how it piled up into some kind of a life.

I’ve learned that writing down a plan helps turn that plan into a reality. I sirrioulsy do not know why writing it down is so important vs. saying it in your head. But somehow it works out better.

I’ve learned that if I say “Yes” a lot more than saying “No,” oftentimes I’m pleasantly surprised by what comes of it.

I’ve learned I can make new friends, and meet new people who are genuinely just good-hearted and their always-present smile and laughter is the real deal.

I’ve learned I really really needed more sunshine and blue skies and bright smiles in my past year to give myself a mental reset that I’m so desperately holding onto as we stroll into 2020.

I’ve learned that sometimes I really do need to just shut. the. fuck. up.

I’ve learned that I have a whole depth of creativity inside me and what I really want to do is hold classes where people get to make fun things.

I’ve learned that things don’t have to be forever, that “for now” is quite all right.

I’ve learned that no matter how much I say I’m going to write more!, that actually writing more is the only way to write more.

I’ve learned that I can make new habits if I just get out of my own way and do the things I say I want to do.

I’ve learned that Florida isn’t where I’m ready to live just yet, Reader.

It was time to go home.  To my badly behaved cats, and my annoys-the-piss-outta-me-sometimes boyfriend, and my always-something-to-clean house, and grey skies and cold weather and let’s not even discuss the snow yet because I’ve so far successfully avoided it – but it’s coming, as sure as I know anything, it’s coming – and the potholes and the whole damn thing that’s Cleveland.

All of that is my life, and it was time to come home.

My always-reliable boyfriend flew down to Florida to help get me get here. I’m terrified of driving in West-by-God Virginia.

So he came down to help get me home.

I’ve learned that it may not be for good, because I have no idea what the future holds.

But it’s for now.

And while I miss so many things about my time in Florida – my new friends! the pool! the blue skies and no jackets required! – I’m lucky that I had this experience, and got to try out a different life, and can make plans for that life on a more permanent basis one day – but right now, this minute, I’m back where I need to be.

 

No, Florida. Thank you for having me.

Reader. Listen to me now and hear me later.

Florida, while delivering beautiful sunshiney days, is also a House of Horrors.

You guys, we almost had a Strike 3 Incident this week.

Almost, because while the incident itself was startling, the actual culprit was not.

I’ve been livin’ down here in ol’ Floor-eed-ah for a whole lot longer than I would have guessed, had we been guessing back in January of this year.  I wouldn’t have guessed a southern wind was blowing me south, yet here I sit, comin’ up on putting in five months. I know, I know – I’m as surprised as you are.

For the most part I haven’t cried nearly as much as one would have thought.  Change is hard, but I guess changing to a swimming pool and a lot of beautiful days is helpful on drying up tears.

I have, however, been a whole lot more scared by wildlife than I would have ever guessed.

The big-as-my-head wolf spider under my desk, than ran right up my wall, and how that didn’t have me heading to zee hills is surprising to me.

We’ve had the scorpion in my room incident.

I’ve had a variety of worms and daily snails. Now, before you’re all, “Pishaw, a snail!”  Let’s review the evidence:

They are big and snail-y.  And yet I just go on about my day, as if I haven’t just encountered this face-to-face in the early morning before I’ve even had one whole cuppa coffee. Life a wild life badass.

Then, we’ve had these cute armadillos that have held up traffic while crossing the road:

At my workplace, I’ve been mildly concerned when I was in the lunch room making my coffee and could hear some critter running laps around the drop ceiling.

And then stuff began to drop outta the drop ceiling:

And still I stayed, and didn’t count that as a Florida Strike.

I even PARTICIPATED in standing nearby while two of the office gals set up a trap to get out the critter and rehome it to the scary as fuck great outdoors.

Someone had to be the documentarian, from a safe and assured distance.

I can with 100000% certainty assure you that I would NOT be the girl removing the ceiling tile to set up a trap.

I was even afraid of the trap itself, quite frankly, because it was very snappy sounding when it was triggered.

I supplied the peanut butter on bread idea as a very successful lure, which worked about an hour after the trap was set.

Again, I participated in see what was caught, while the Office Trappers took it down and drove it away and released this cute, yet destructive, girl.

Yes, the squirrel is a girl. We still have her kids living in the ceiling, and have been unsuccessful in getting them out. But that’s neither here nor there, eventually they will depart the premises.

So you see, all that. I’ve encountered ALL THAT in five short months, and I’m not even talking about the palmetto bugs and whatnot because i’m all casual about that, mostly.  Ahem.

But.

I have taken note, from various sources including my friendie SC who lives in Australia now, where all these Florida scary things are just her Australian scary thing’s snacks, mentioned “I check the toilet before I sit down” and I have been, too, only maybe not consistently.

Until after my scorpion incident, and I figured it had to get up in this room somehow, and maybe it came in from my toilet.

So I look before I leap, shall we say.

This past week while at the House of Horrors work, I went to the bathroom to dispose of my two cups of coffee.

I preened into the toilet as I was getting near, and saw something JUMPING up outta the water at me.

Once again, I let out another bloodcurdling scream professional call to action with a demurely stated “Hey, co-workers, there appears to be something alive in the toilet.”

Luckily, we hired Trapper Jackie (from photo above) in September, and she sits nearby and came to check out the situation for me.

I will just go on the record as stating that my screams barely get noticed at work any longer. No one was even coming to see what was happening, I just heard some quiet inquiries of, “Spider?” while every one continued on their day, which is really concerning, because a Bad Guy could be hiding in there taking a machete to my head and no one would come running because apparently I’ve become the Girl Who Screams Wolf Spider.  I’m just saying, when someone very professionally screams, the polite thing to do is to come and save the northern girl find out why.

Trapper Jackie discovered it was a pretty good sized frog jumping around in the toilet, so really, not a scary critter, except it could have JUMPED UP IN MY P-HOLE or my B-HOLE had I sat down without looking. I’m going on record as stating that if I am ever on a toilet and feel a thwamp on either of the holes – the P or the B – it is ALL THE STRIKES, and I don’t care what sort of critter is doing the thwamping.

Trapper Jackie went to slap on a pair of latex gloves to retrieve the froggy, but by the time she got back it had gone out the way it came in, and lets just say I was nervous AF to pee for the rest of the day, but like a trooper, I carried on and didn’t even count this as a Florida Strike.

Later in the same week a turtle was discovered living right outside our doorway, and I jumped up to go see it, because no one is afraid of seeing a turtle, even I can outrun a TURTLE for crying out loud (at least I confidently tell myself I can), and it was pretty cute and not that little at all.

One of the girls picked it up and started coming towards me with it, and I saw that little mouth opening and closing like it wanted to snap onto something like, oh, my fingers, and I yelled, “DON’T COME AT ME WITH THAT!!!” while scampering away to safety.

And Trapper Jackie just shook her head and muttered, “I just don’t know how you even get along in life.”

I’m not sure myself, to be quite honest. At least not in the Wild South.

Okay, I’m going to set the table for us here, right now, before we even get started.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I didn’t even WANT to drink this entire bottle of wine tonight*, but here we are, the last remains in that fingerfucked glass.

*of course I did.

I was compelled to drink that entire bottle because my refrigerator is too small to fit an opened bottle upright on any of the shelves, so I would have had to leave it out on the counter,  and we both know a nice chardonnay should be chilled for freshness** so since I didn’t have a suitable “save it for another night” method, I just drank it. Or am in the process.

**I’m not sure if that’s a rule or not, but it sounds reasonable so I’m sticking to it.

My super personal too-personal-to-post-to-here-sorry-Reader-but-you’ll-have-to-PAY-for-those-thoughts-one-day journal (also noted in the photo) details all the Worries I’ve had recently, with the most recent worries centering around Which Cat I Hostage-Situation To Florida With Me.

It has pages of worries.

I kept trying to assuage those worries by reminding myself of All The Reasons we shouldn’t worry, but the reasons not to worry did no good.

At the end of the trip, I decided to bring Kitty Purry to Florida with me instead of DJ. I had kept vacillating between the two. I love them both, but DJ charms me more*** and he loves me and I love him and it was just a tough call. I love Purry, too, but she also loves Kenny, and hates change. But ultimately I choose her because while she’s sixteen and old and doesn’t like change, she HATES cats and I figured she could use the vacation.

***stop judging me for having a favorite, Reader!  We are a NO JUDGE zone! That starts with DON”T JUDGE ME!

Anyway. She was The Chosen One.   And the morning we were packing up to go, I put her in the airline carrier and off we went at 5:30 a.m. in the godawful-early hours of the morning to the airport.

A minute way from the house I questioned My Mister, “Why do I smell pee?? MY GOD, I forgot to put a pee-pad in the carrier in case she has an accident while we’re travelling!’

I can’t remember a fucking thing at 5:30 in the morning, Reader. It is not my optimized time. Just so you know, in case you’re ever quizzed about me on Jeopardy.

My Mister assured me there was no smell of pee, I was over-reacting.

He’s worse with mornings than I am, just so you know, in case that’s ever a question on Jeopardy.

We arrived at the airport and I moved the carrier to get out of the car and discovered my lap was completely wet.

Remember where I said a few sentences ago that I’m not good at 5:30 a.m.? It crossed my mind that I peed my own pants and just didn’t know it.

Once I came to my senses, I realized that I had ONCE AGAIN**** been peed on by Kitty Purry.

****This is at least the FOURTH time, I’ve lost count. And yet still she lives because I heart her and obviously I need to do a better job of meeting her needs.

Luckily I had a suitcase full of clothes with me.

I presto-change-o’d into a non-peed-on pair of jeans in the minivan. Luckily I had a spacious vehicle to change clothes in while curbside at the airport. Lucky, lucky Me, Reader. All the lucks were happening.

But when I think back to All the Worries I had, and what actually has become our reality – a little pee, but mostly good travel – I realize how SMART those quote-creators are, that we don’t need to have so much worry.

Because while she spent the first few days hiding in a duffel bag deep in my lone closet, she’s also going to be okay.

She’s looking around.

I had the door opened tonight while I was cooking to keep our little place aired-out, and I turned around and she was gone. Outside in the courtyard exploring on her own, without me.

Prior to today, she wouldn’t even stick a toe out of the doorway without Mama by her side.

She’s adjusting and getting more comfortable and she’s beginning to realize the threats in her mind aren’t founded in reality.

She’s relaxing a little.

Mama’s relaxing a little.

I like having her little body at home when I get in from work. I like having to tend to her. Scoop her litter. Feed her treats. Sweep up. Freshen her water. I needed something to have responsibility towards more than just myself.

It’s good for me.

It’s good for her.

We’re going to be okay.

And all those worries?

Are all just things I worried about three worries ago.

So keep perspective.  Worry about the things you know, and not the things you think.

There’s often a solution. Like changing your pee-pants in the car, grabbing your cat and getting on that plane.*****

*****I know that’s not a Universal Specific, Reader. But bear with me, it’s All The Wine. I had to wrap this up.