This week's edition of why cameramen should follow me

Things I wish would have been recorded for humor, and personal archives (this week):

1) Ticky (a 75 year old southern woman) and myself moving a couch and huge ass console television. 

2) Pookie and I shopping at the Dollar Tree for sympathy cards and scented trash bags. 

3) Me trying to be Wonder Woman and carry an obnoxious amount of things up a VERY narrow stairway into the carriage house. With little success. 

4) Me arguing with a real estate broker that assumes I'm dumb or easily confused. 

5) Me guarding dog and cat food from a miniature pig. Jellybean, the pig, is a persistent and sneaky little booger. She also bites. 

Slowing down to live...

Today I went downtown to measure and ponder this little place...

It's an adorable carriage house, moments from Forsyth Park. It's exactly where I want to live. It's just a little room, and the kitchen reminds me of one you'd find in an RV. There are built in bookcases and a window seat that Banana Pants would love. 

I couldn't help but imagine my dad there with me.  He's been gone 11 years, today. When I was little I used to come to camp on Tybee Island, every year when I'd come home I'd tell him that someday I was going to live in Savannah. And I did. In the early part of the past decade, I moved with Paul, my ex husband. We lived at the very camp I had loved as a child. 

And now I'm back, but this time on my own and nearly nine years after leaving. In so many ways it feels like a time warp.  I'm staying with my old boss, my free time is spent with Pookie and Mr. Duff and in so many ways it feels the same. My new office is just across the street from my old one, and I find myself looking for parking off the exact same streets.

I could feel my dad, my Popoola, laughing at me today. Measuring my apartment in flip flops to make my best friend's husband spin his top. I could feel him hug me as I cried inside this tiny carriage house as I was feeling lost and simultaneously at home. I can even hear him whispering for me to slow down, because there's no point in living so damn fast.

Relocated - in shifts.

I'm in Savannah, GA. 

It's beautiful. I'm in love with this town.

(That's my current mantra at least.)

I can't lie and say I'm 100% confident with my decision. But I've been well received by old friends. They're gracious, generous and patient. 

I'm terribly heartsick that Banana, my cat, isn't with me in my temporary housing. And I'm a complete wreck without my Hippo and Turtle. They both keep me sane and it's difficult without them physically accessible.

Touring apartments and the city in search of "For Rent" signs is exhausting. Without Pookie's help, I'd live in my car. Seriously, I already pay enough for the damn thing. Might as well live there too. 

I'm excited by the potential adventures and lessons. I'm anxious for new memories and stories. 

In over my head, just where I love to be. 

Moving is an adventure. Like hell.

Moving is stressful. 

Everything you own is under scrutiny. Do you need it? Want it? Do you wanna put together one more fucking box or just throw the shit away??

Moving when you have no plan, even more stressful. 

Do I stay? Do I get a roommate? Do I put an advert on Craiglist and hope I don't get murdered??

Who the hell owns this many pairs of shoes? Where the fuck did this third hand mixer come from? And how do I not make enough money to hire someone to do this for me??

I'm exhausted, cranky and needy. There are VERY few people in my life that can handle me under these circumstances. 

The short list doesn't seem to include a man with muscles, or access to a moving truck... I need a husband. Le sigh.