We’ve been in our Prettytown for nearly five months. I know, unbelievable. I’ve still yet to have a single misgiving about making this move, and I still love it. Although of late I’ve been having urges to burn down the house. Mind you, it’s not the house’s fault. We’ve just hit that point where we’ve lived here long enough to realize that the places where we put all of our stuff? All wrong. I’ve spent the past two days cleaning like a banshee programmed to clean instead of scream. I’ve also been moving things around. Still, it’s good. Better than it ever was at the old house.

Speaking of which, Clara Jane’s having some weird seperation anxiety issues. Well, not weird, because they’re pretty much the same kinds of issues I had when I was her ages. Several years ago my therapist said it was because my grandfather died when I was four, thus making me fear abandonment. Clara Jane’s yet to experience death … hold on while I knock on every piece of wood in my house … so apparently the irrational death fear is purely genetic. From me. Her latest: she’s afraid that B. and I will move back to the old house and leave her here.


Yeah. Right. I can’t even be bothered to visit the awesome thrift store in my old neighborhood, never mind re-relocating to the Crapshack.

Today I did something I probably should have done a few dozen times in the past few weeks while dealing with the anxiety and stress: I sat on my front porch, listened to Wilco’s “Sky Blue Sky”, knitted, and drank hot tea. There is absolutely nothing more relaxing, as far as I’m concerned, and I don’t understand why I don’t do this on a daily basis.

If there was any doubt that we’ve made a vast improvement, compare and contrast. This is the view from the front stoop of our old house:
camel2

And this was the view from my front porch this afternoon:

Yeah. Clara Jane has nothing to fear.