I've been living some kind of double life, trying to adhere to both the East Coast and West Coast time zones. As usual, time wins. I'm just plain exhausted.
For all who have asked, Gia is a rockstar traveller. Her little carrier was tiny - it made me claustrophobic just to look at it. I had to take her out of it to get through security. (Walking through a metal detector in an airport holding a cat - a bit nerve-wracking.) Having a cat in an airport makes you very approachable. A number of people stopped to tell me how gorgeous and well-behaved she is. (True, and true.)
On the flight, I sat between an older Italian couple (they switched seats to sit in the same row, but didn't want to switch to sit next to each other.) I tried to ask them if they were allergic to cats, which wasn't happening in English. I decided to ask if they spoke French (which, of course, they did.) Only I could end up chatting about universal health insurance in French on a cross-country flight. (I even learned a word in Italian: capito, which I think means "understand.")
Here is my MacGyver/Ocean's 11/Knightrider entree to SF: the Star took off for Asia the day before I flew in, and parked his car at the airport. He had his father in Seattle send me the spare keys to his car. I arrived at the airport and dragged my 100+ pounds of luggage (not including cat) onto an airport shuttle and found the car. The Star had left the keys to his place in the car. I stopped by the pet store, then found his place, dragged everything upstairs, and collapsed.
I saw Pat the next day. Oddly enough, her whole place smelled like Glade Country Garden Scent. Oh, the irony. I managed to drag her out on the "rounds" of looking at apartments. So, so depressing: I have no problem living in a place built in the 1960s, but do the appliances have to be "retro" too? Not cool.
It's not easy reinventing your life. I know that sounds incredibly obvious, but it is something I lose sight of: I was craving personal space and time and I thought I'd be so much happier once I was in California. No, in reality, I'm Goldilocks (Blackilocks?) - DC: not enough space, California: too much space. I know that will change: the Star gets back next week, I start work the week after, I'll soon know my way around again, etc.
Things are on the upswing already: I signed a lease on an AWESOME place yesterday. I couldn't be much happier: 2.5 miles from work, blocks away from CalTrain and the library, and the "main drag." I expect to see brimful soon(ish), I have a hot date with IKEA, and SJM is moving here this weekend.
And now, I'm heading out to the door to drive a little too fast with the sunroof open.