I've run out of things to write about, for now. My life is just the job and the commute. When I come home I go to sleep. Then I wake up and sit down and expect myself to write. There is nothing to say, unless you think the drive along the 101 in California is worth reading about. Under better circumstances it might be, but not this morning.
I dreamed that our puppy, Barkley, got bit by a rattlesnake. An unpleasant way to awaken. The little guy was limping, needing our help.
I am learning a lot at work. It occupies the remainder of my mind. The portions of it that are not terrorized by rattlesnakes.
We have finally been evicted from our apartment in NYC. I got the certified letter yesterday. It is a long story, one that I will tell here when the time is right. For now though, I must see it for what it is: the final indicator that we will not be moving back to NYC anytime soon. We held on to the apartment in the event that we hated California. That turned out to not be the case. Though we do miss the city.
I haven't dreamed of rat attacks in months.
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