I have settled into my suburban life with my uncle. While I sort of miss the accessibility I had in Chicago -- I keep getting confused and thinking about biking over to my coffee shop or movie theater before I remember -- there is something about my life right now that has me far less tense than I used to be. I do want a job so that I can plan financially, especially get a newer car that won't make me nervous about road trips, but for now I'm OK. My uncle has his nightly routine of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy! and I watch with him often, or cook in the kitchen while shouts of things like "Big Bear Hug!" and "The Bering Strait!"come from the den.
I think about whether I want my own place again, and while I like the idea, I don't like the idea of leaving my uncle. He's retiring, and right now he comes home and sits in front of the TV for easily five hours a night. I think he likes the company, and I do, too. The other night he talked about bringing up a shelf from the basement so that I could put more of my things in the kitchen.
Today was Thanksgiving, so we went to my mother's. My friend E-- came along, as she usually does for gatherings, and my niece drive down from Maine, which was a treat.
E-- and I convinced my uncle and his friends to come to a production by a Boston theater company we love, the Gold Dust Orphans.
"It will be irreverent, and you should not go if you are easily offended," said E--.
"It will be raunchy and rude, and very funny," I added.
"Where will it me?" Asked one of the guys.
"Machine," said E--.
"In the lower level of Ramrod," I added.
"I think I've been there before," said one of my uncle's friends.
"It's the club with the bathroom that says 'one person maximum' on the bathroom stalls," I offered.
And so it was done. I know my uncle is humoring me, but I really want him to get out and have more fun. And so it is that my 70-something uncle will be heading to an irreverent and off-color show put on by men in drag.
I await the disinheritance.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
The Gut Knows.
So the job offer from the place in the 'burbs came through, and I turned it down. I'd called the company and spoke with the lead admin to say that I had a 2-month temp gig I was interested in taking if they didn't want me, but I needed to know by that afternoon whether I was still in the running, because the other place needed someone in pronto.
Yes, yes, I was still definitely being considered, she said; could she call me back after speaking wiht some people? Sure.
Here's what I expected: "We'd like to offer you a job supporting the legal team, and since it's a somewhat paralegal position, we're going to pay you at the high end of the pay scale you'd given us during your first interview. Because we have no debt on our properties and give ten million dollars a year to charity, we also pay for 90% of health insurance. When can you start?"
Here's what I got: "We'd like to offer you a job but we don't know what it is yet, because we haven't decided where to put you. We're offering about $5K less than your minimum, and you'll have to pay $260 per month for the cheapest HMO plan."
I said I'd think about it. Hung up; thought about it. My gut was screaming, DO NOT TAKE THIS JOB. HAVE NO TRUCK WITH PEOPLE WHO FEEL THEY CAN MAKE UNILATERAL DECISIONS ABOUT YOUR WORK, READ YOUR EMAILS, AND WHO EXPECT YOU TO BE OK WITH THAT.
It reeked of paternalistic top-down, BS, and I agreed with my gut, so I sent an email saying thanks, but no thanks. They asked whether I was comfortable sharing why, and I said, very politely, that I can't commit to a job without knowing what it is or whom I'd be working with or for, and I found it surprising that company so profitable and otherwise charitable would not offer more competitive health benefits. I got no reply.
I took the temp gig, and it's fine. It's another big company with stupid systems, and after my second week there I still don't have print capabilities, and I don't feel like anyone is really in charge. The head of the team seems very capable but is also somewhat neurotic, gives me three conflicting answers to my questions, and basically makes me glad I don't deal with her much. The one guy with whom I share a small windowless office is a sweet guy, about 24. He strikes me as being good at his job, but also very inarticulate and vague when it comes to explaining things. I tell myself that I'm not there to learn a job or make positive change; I'm there to learn enough to help them for eight weeks.
The woman who went out on maternity leave was there for my first few days. I found out she used to work for the company that had made me the job offer. When I told her my experience, her smile kept getting wider. When I was done, she said, "All I will say is that I have an email and a voicemail on my phone from my labor attorney."
She didn't elaborate and I didn't ask for details, but I clearly made the right decision.
Yes, yes, I was still definitely being considered, she said; could she call me back after speaking wiht some people? Sure.
Here's what I expected: "We'd like to offer you a job supporting the legal team, and since it's a somewhat paralegal position, we're going to pay you at the high end of the pay scale you'd given us during your first interview. Because we have no debt on our properties and give ten million dollars a year to charity, we also pay for 90% of health insurance. When can you start?"
Here's what I got: "We'd like to offer you a job but we don't know what it is yet, because we haven't decided where to put you. We're offering about $5K less than your minimum, and you'll have to pay $260 per month for the cheapest HMO plan."
I said I'd think about it. Hung up; thought about it. My gut was screaming, DO NOT TAKE THIS JOB. HAVE NO TRUCK WITH PEOPLE WHO FEEL THEY CAN MAKE UNILATERAL DECISIONS ABOUT YOUR WORK, READ YOUR EMAILS, AND WHO EXPECT YOU TO BE OK WITH THAT.
It reeked of paternalistic top-down, BS, and I agreed with my gut, so I sent an email saying thanks, but no thanks. They asked whether I was comfortable sharing why, and I said, very politely, that I can't commit to a job without knowing what it is or whom I'd be working with or for, and I found it surprising that company so profitable and otherwise charitable would not offer more competitive health benefits. I got no reply.
I took the temp gig, and it's fine. It's another big company with stupid systems, and after my second week there I still don't have print capabilities, and I don't feel like anyone is really in charge. The head of the team seems very capable but is also somewhat neurotic, gives me three conflicting answers to my questions, and basically makes me glad I don't deal with her much. The one guy with whom I share a small windowless office is a sweet guy, about 24. He strikes me as being good at his job, but also very inarticulate and vague when it comes to explaining things. I tell myself that I'm not there to learn a job or make positive change; I'm there to learn enough to help them for eight weeks.
The woman who went out on maternity leave was there for my first few days. I found out she used to work for the company that had made me the job offer. When I told her my experience, her smile kept getting wider. When I was done, she said, "All I will say is that I have an email and a voicemail on my phone from my labor attorney."
She didn't elaborate and I didn't ask for details, but I clearly made the right decision.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Settling into Normal
Now that I've been here for all of six weeks, I can say it feels longer, but in a good way.
My uncle and I have settled into a happy co-existence, and I think we both like the company. We watch Jeopardy! together and yell at the screen; he buys vegetarian food for me when he sees something interesting, bless his heart. Like many people, he buys things with no regard for the environmental effect of packaging. He has, however, gotten into recycling now that I've implemented it in the household. We give each other space and I try to be helpful without being pushy.
He's cool. I like living here. I like the space, the quiet, the wild turkeys in the yard who also freak me out a bit by coldly observing me while I dump dirty rabbit litter into my makeshift compost heap. My uncle likes the cats. He makes no judgments on the worm composter in the cellar. He avoids burning his beloved Yankee Candles because they aggravate my asthma. He makes unbelievable salads.
The cats love it here for the same reason I do. The rabbits are more confined, but they have a large area to hang out in, and Sparrow is right now sprawled luxuriously on her side on their rug, something she never did back in the small apartment.
We're all doing well.
I'm in what appears to be the last stages of a job interview -- two companies seem to want me, which is good. I prefer the one in the 'burbs, a 20-minute drive from the house, where I'd support an in-house legal team of four nice guys. the company is large, profitable, philanthropic, and privately owned.
The other company is in town (in the building incidentally, whose facade was used in Boston Legal as the law firm. Alas, no William Shatner roaming the halls while I was there). It's a publicly-traded property-management company. I'd be doing a 3-month temp gig for a maternity-leave coverage, but during the interview they asked whether I'd be interested in permanent. They need to know by Monday, but I'm their first choice, and they know I'm waiting to hear about the other job, so I'm in the position of being in a hurry to see who loves me most. that office would be more hassle to get to and would involve more commuter expense, but it's in a really pretty part of town, so I could handle it.
I'm happy at the prospect of an income, but will miss my relative freedom. I did some freelance admin for a friend's sister for three weeks, but she was a bit bipolar. More about that later; I've been having trouble with my right arm, and typing hurts. But right now, things are good. I'm doing well.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
The Move - On the Road and Arrival
Move over, settling in, so I thought I'd post about the interim since my last post over a few entries, to make the story more acceptable.
Best Friend SP came down from Canada and spent the night at a neighbor's. Next day, he helped me load the truck, and I can truly say he saved me. the other two friends who were joining us on the road were, as SP put it, "absolutely fucking useless." So it was basically he and I. When one of the Duo complained about how heavy things were (she couldn't carry an empty drawer), I reminded her that I had at one point packed and moved every singe box by myself around the apartment as I prepared to go.
Car rented for the animals? I'd wanted to have access the night before so that I could figure out animal placement, but that didn't happen. Next day they arrived with the car and a back seat full of luggage. JesusMaryandJoseph. Finally got the animals situated, and we set out.
Trip went smoothly save for the occasional call from the other car asking why we slowed down, what was the matter, etc. And at each rest stop I got a running commentary on my driving (which is fine), and my choice of parking space. SP and I were taking bets on the quality and number of comments.
Arrival at my home town, and my uncle's house. Uncle had decided that the room I'd originally asked for the rabbits wouldn't work as it was too central and was used a lot for entertaining. Fair enough, but the issue: the rest of the house is carpeted in off-white wall-to-all. Decided to put the rabbit hutch on my wool area rug on top of the carpet in my bedroom. Had dinner, then to bed. The next day sent the girls exploring while SP and I unpacked the truck. My mother and father arrived.
"I thought you were only bringing a bed!" my mother said.
"What?"
"I thought you were bringing only a bed!"
And it begins.
"I don't know why you would think that," I said.
A nice surprise: my dad had gotten his 1993 Pontiac Acclaim fixed up for me to use. This is a huge deal, and the first time either parent has done anything so generous without being asked. It may be that they know I need it to get a job, but it's still a godsend. The car is red inside and out, with plush interior, a sort of AARP pimpmobile. After a week here, I know that I'd have lost my ever-loving mind without it.
My uncle is being great. He loves my outgoing cat, and is trying his best to get the other two to warm up to him. I think he likes the company.
I'd thought that having two people in a 4-br house would mean plenty of room, but it turns out my uncle is that type of modern-day hoarder who keeps a clean house, but whose every inch of closet and basement space is crammed full of duplicates of things he never uses. I cleared out the basement for my things and got the dehumidifier to work, this removing the Private Swamp Effect, and organized some other things. I think he feels a little motivated. I'm trying to be helpful without making him feel invaded.
He keeps the house very dark -- in my old place, lights tended to be on, partly because the place was tiny, partly because I was always moving around the place. Here, he keeps no lights on save a nightlight -- even in the TV room he watches it in the dark. I take refuge in my room, which I keep lighted and where I keep a TV with a new antenna. I'd watch TV with my uncle, but he tends towards things like televised poker matches and shows where people with stupid amounts of money flip mansions.
The house is in the suburbs, one of these streets that dead-ends into a wooded area; wild turkeys wander into the yard, and on a walk in the woods the other day I startled a herd of deer. When books talk about deer "crashing" through the brush, they aren't kidding. I took to singing Desperado" as I walked to alert them of my presence and prevent mutual terror.
Right now I'm feeling claustrophobic and isolated, but keeping busy. Have had an interview with a staffing agency and, thanks to a friend, have connected with a woman who runs a business and who is looking for someone. Right now I'm temping, with possibility for permanent. We'll see. Had first day today, and will go back tomorrow and Thursday.
Best Friend SP came down from Canada and spent the night at a neighbor's. Next day, he helped me load the truck, and I can truly say he saved me. the other two friends who were joining us on the road were, as SP put it, "absolutely fucking useless." So it was basically he and I. When one of the Duo complained about how heavy things were (she couldn't carry an empty drawer), I reminded her that I had at one point packed and moved every singe box by myself around the apartment as I prepared to go.
Car rented for the animals? I'd wanted to have access the night before so that I could figure out animal placement, but that didn't happen. Next day they arrived with the car and a back seat full of luggage. JesusMaryandJoseph. Finally got the animals situated, and we set out.
Trip went smoothly save for the occasional call from the other car asking why we slowed down, what was the matter, etc. And at each rest stop I got a running commentary on my driving (which is fine), and my choice of parking space. SP and I were taking bets on the quality and number of comments.
Arrival at my home town, and my uncle's house. Uncle had decided that the room I'd originally asked for the rabbits wouldn't work as it was too central and was used a lot for entertaining. Fair enough, but the issue: the rest of the house is carpeted in off-white wall-to-all. Decided to put the rabbit hutch on my wool area rug on top of the carpet in my bedroom. Had dinner, then to bed. The next day sent the girls exploring while SP and I unpacked the truck. My mother and father arrived.
"I thought you were only bringing a bed!" my mother said.
"What?"
"I thought you were bringing only a bed!"
And it begins.
"I don't know why you would think that," I said.
A nice surprise: my dad had gotten his 1993 Pontiac Acclaim fixed up for me to use. This is a huge deal, and the first time either parent has done anything so generous without being asked. It may be that they know I need it to get a job, but it's still a godsend. The car is red inside and out, with plush interior, a sort of AARP pimpmobile. After a week here, I know that I'd have lost my ever-loving mind without it.
My uncle is being great. He loves my outgoing cat, and is trying his best to get the other two to warm up to him. I think he likes the company.
I'd thought that having two people in a 4-br house would mean plenty of room, but it turns out my uncle is that type of modern-day hoarder who keeps a clean house, but whose every inch of closet and basement space is crammed full of duplicates of things he never uses. I cleared out the basement for my things and got the dehumidifier to work, this removing the Private Swamp Effect, and organized some other things. I think he feels a little motivated. I'm trying to be helpful without making him feel invaded.
He keeps the house very dark -- in my old place, lights tended to be on, partly because the place was tiny, partly because I was always moving around the place. Here, he keeps no lights on save a nightlight -- even in the TV room he watches it in the dark. I take refuge in my room, which I keep lighted and where I keep a TV with a new antenna. I'd watch TV with my uncle, but he tends towards things like televised poker matches and shows where people with stupid amounts of money flip mansions.
The house is in the suburbs, one of these streets that dead-ends into a wooded area; wild turkeys wander into the yard, and on a walk in the woods the other day I startled a herd of deer. When books talk about deer "crashing" through the brush, they aren't kidding. I took to singing Desperado" as I walked to alert them of my presence and prevent mutual terror.
Right now I'm feeling claustrophobic and isolated, but keeping busy. Have had an interview with a staffing agency and, thanks to a friend, have connected with a woman who runs a business and who is looking for someone. Right now I'm temping, with possibility for permanent. We'll see. Had first day today, and will go back tomorrow and Thursday.
I knew this would be an adjustment, and I knew it would be a challenge, even though I fully expect it to be temporary. And it is a challenge. It's hard being in someone else's house, being mindful of the dishes and not leaving things lying about. It's difficult not being able to walk to a single thing. I do miss my little Chicago apartment, full of my things. My bathtub. My fridge. A place full of only me and my pets and my things. I miss walking to the local cafe and train, seeing familiar faces, riding my bike to the Whole Foods. I've been looking online and it looks like I may be able to find a place in a town that would work for me: just outside Boston, on pub trans, plenty of street life. The ability to be around people. Once I get a job.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Packing
I leave Chicago this Saturday. This week, people whom I've had to chase down want to grab a drink, get dinner, see a movie. Can we do this? Can we get together? Can we? Can we? Know what not ONE person has asked?
"Can I help?"
So ready to be out of here.
"Can I help?"
So ready to be out of here.
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Road Tripping and Falling
My friend, "Clara,"suggested she drive the vehicle I was renting to transport the animals back East.
"It will be fun; I love road trips!" she said.
"Look, this is a long slog on an interstate. I'm not sure you want to do that, and I'm not sure you'll have company." My best friend and I were riding in the truck; I was driving, and he's allergic to pets.
"It will be cool. Maybe I can get Jodi to come along and we can drive back, too."
"Hey, that's your call, but that would be a really big favor, and I'd pay for the vehicle."
Ok, fine.
When it looked like she'd be riding alone and not with my friend's BF, she said, "I'll need a detailed map so I'll know where we're going."
"The entire trip is I-90, from Chicago to Boston. I will print you out a map to the hotel in Rochester, and to my uncle's place in MA, but we'll be near each other the entire time."
"How will we communicate?"
"We have cellphones."
"Mine doesn't always have good coverage."
"Um...there's not a lot I can do about that, is there?"
"Well, I won't know where I'll be, and.."
"It's INTERSTATE 90. OK, I'll buy a set of flashlights, and if either of us needs to stop at a rest area, they can flash the other."
A week ago I mentioned I'd bought a covered bed for one of the cats to hide in.
"He'll like it for the trip," I said.
"He's not going to be in a carrier?"
"He can't be in a carrier for two days."
"How is he going to be contained?"
"Well, he'll be behind a barrier in the vehicle, but he won't be in a crate. He can't be with the other cats because he becomes a pest, and there won't be room for two cat crates big enough for a litter box, and the rabbit crate. I've done this before. Several times. It will be fine. All cats want to do in a car is lay low."
"I just don't want him crawling on my lap when I'm driving; I won't be driving somewhere familiar."
Again, the entirety of the trip will be along Interstate 90. No back roads, no blue highways.
"He won't be able to get in your lap. He'll be behind a barrier. I also have a harness and leash I can use as a backup. You won't be loading or unloading any of the animals. It will be fine, trust me."
I could tell she was becoming neurotic, so I got home and called Jodi, who's a freelance reporter.
"If the issue is money, I will give you money to ride with Clara. She's doing the Clara Thing and getting neurotic on me, and it's too close to the move to change plans."
Jodi assured me she was going, and also confirmed she'd keep Clara on earth.
I won't miss any of this.
"It will be fun; I love road trips!" she said.
"Look, this is a long slog on an interstate. I'm not sure you want to do that, and I'm not sure you'll have company." My best friend and I were riding in the truck; I was driving, and he's allergic to pets.
"It will be cool. Maybe I can get Jodi to come along and we can drive back, too."
"Hey, that's your call, but that would be a really big favor, and I'd pay for the vehicle."
Ok, fine.
When it looked like she'd be riding alone and not with my friend's BF, she said, "I'll need a detailed map so I'll know where we're going."
"The entire trip is I-90, from Chicago to Boston. I will print you out a map to the hotel in Rochester, and to my uncle's place in MA, but we'll be near each other the entire time."
"How will we communicate?"
"We have cellphones."
"Mine doesn't always have good coverage."
"Um...there's not a lot I can do about that, is there?"
"Well, I won't know where I'll be, and.."
"It's INTERSTATE 90. OK, I'll buy a set of flashlights, and if either of us needs to stop at a rest area, they can flash the other."
A week ago I mentioned I'd bought a covered bed for one of the cats to hide in.
"He'll like it for the trip," I said.
"He's not going to be in a carrier?"
"He can't be in a carrier for two days."
"How is he going to be contained?"
"Well, he'll be behind a barrier in the vehicle, but he won't be in a crate. He can't be with the other cats because he becomes a pest, and there won't be room for two cat crates big enough for a litter box, and the rabbit crate. I've done this before. Several times. It will be fine. All cats want to do in a car is lay low."
"I just don't want him crawling on my lap when I'm driving; I won't be driving somewhere familiar."
Again, the entirety of the trip will be along Interstate 90. No back roads, no blue highways.
"He won't be able to get in your lap. He'll be behind a barrier. I also have a harness and leash I can use as a backup. You won't be loading or unloading any of the animals. It will be fine, trust me."
I could tell she was becoming neurotic, so I got home and called Jodi, who's a freelance reporter.
"If the issue is money, I will give you money to ride with Clara. She's doing the Clara Thing and getting neurotic on me, and it's too close to the move to change plans."
Jodi assured me she was going, and also confirmed she'd keep Clara on earth.
I won't miss any of this.
The End is Near
One more week left of work. Three more weeks left in Chicago. I know how I feel about it; what I'm not prepared for is how I'll feel about it later, which is something I'll just have to find out.
Katerina's, a bar I visited early in Chicago for a Big Lebowski showing, closed last month: Katerina is retiring.
Last Sunday I stopped in a pet-supply place that I use as emergency-hay supply when I misjudge how much I have left (Joe's Parkview Pet Supply is closed Sundays). I learned that it would be closing, since the owner and her dog had both passed away a few months ago.
A few days later I went to Joe's store and he took me aside to tell me he was closing his shop at the end of the year, as online-sales sites were killing him. His prices are the best you'll find anywhere, but he can't compete with online sites. It was all I could do not to cry.
The Landmark in Andersonville is closing -- The oner can't afford to keep the shop; rents are too high.
Icosium Cafe closed.
Life is about change, don't I know that lesson, but the loss of dear things is crushing. I fear we are looking at a destruction of natural resources and society that is unprecedented. Those of us who cherish interpersonal connections and who don't live life through a digital screen are finding it harder and harder to maintain stability and familiarity. It may seem hypocritical to mourn the loss of things I'm moving away from, but their passing signals for me a larger loss, a greater instability.
For my part, I've got a tenant for my place, a seemingly nice young woman; and I'm painting my green walls to a neutral shade, which I have to say looks pretty elegant. The U-Haul is reserved, my best friend is coming down from Canada to help me, and two friends are driving a vehicle with the animals inside. The mid-point hotel is reserved, the utilities are scheduled for cutoff, I've sold or given away most of my furniture and divested myself of things I no longer wear, use, or need. Letting go has been easier than I thought. Part of it is recognizing that the shit you own owns you (thanks, Fight Club), and part of it is realizing that you can't take it with you, and it might was well go to another home that will appreciate it. I like to think of my vet friend having friends over for dinner and saying, "I got this table from my friend JC. We bonded over her rabbits."
Last week I saw Hank Williams: Lost Highway with a friend who belongs to the theater putting it on, and it was of course phenomenal, and I reflected on the amazing things I've been so lucky to have experienced, how random and wonderful it has been. I met this friend while waiting for an open seat at a show, and striking up a conversation. I met another friend because I took a crochet (!) class. For a girl who was pathologically self-conscious through her twenties, I feel blessed to have gotten to this place, and I'll always be grateful that I took this chance nine years ago and put myself out there. It's time to go, but it won't be a clean break, and I'm glad I'll retain a connection to Chicago. it will be fun to come back for pure recreation, to enjoy the good without the jobs and the commute and the mundane drudgery.
In the meantime, there is always more stuff to do. So it's time to finish my iced tea here at Sol Cafe, and bike back to the apartment and the critters and the boxes.
Katerina's, a bar I visited early in Chicago for a Big Lebowski showing, closed last month: Katerina is retiring.
Last Sunday I stopped in a pet-supply place that I use as emergency-hay supply when I misjudge how much I have left (Joe's Parkview Pet Supply is closed Sundays). I learned that it would be closing, since the owner and her dog had both passed away a few months ago.
A few days later I went to Joe's store and he took me aside to tell me he was closing his shop at the end of the year, as online-sales sites were killing him. His prices are the best you'll find anywhere, but he can't compete with online sites. It was all I could do not to cry.
The Landmark in Andersonville is closing -- The oner can't afford to keep the shop; rents are too high.
Icosium Cafe closed.
Life is about change, don't I know that lesson, but the loss of dear things is crushing. I fear we are looking at a destruction of natural resources and society that is unprecedented. Those of us who cherish interpersonal connections and who don't live life through a digital screen are finding it harder and harder to maintain stability and familiarity. It may seem hypocritical to mourn the loss of things I'm moving away from, but their passing signals for me a larger loss, a greater instability.
For my part, I've got a tenant for my place, a seemingly nice young woman; and I'm painting my green walls to a neutral shade, which I have to say looks pretty elegant. The U-Haul is reserved, my best friend is coming down from Canada to help me, and two friends are driving a vehicle with the animals inside. The mid-point hotel is reserved, the utilities are scheduled for cutoff, I've sold or given away most of my furniture and divested myself of things I no longer wear, use, or need. Letting go has been easier than I thought. Part of it is recognizing that the shit you own owns you (thanks, Fight Club), and part of it is realizing that you can't take it with you, and it might was well go to another home that will appreciate it. I like to think of my vet friend having friends over for dinner and saying, "I got this table from my friend JC. We bonded over her rabbits."
Last week I saw Hank Williams: Lost Highway with a friend who belongs to the theater putting it on, and it was of course phenomenal, and I reflected on the amazing things I've been so lucky to have experienced, how random and wonderful it has been. I met this friend while waiting for an open seat at a show, and striking up a conversation. I met another friend because I took a crochet (!) class. For a girl who was pathologically self-conscious through her twenties, I feel blessed to have gotten to this place, and I'll always be grateful that I took this chance nine years ago and put myself out there. It's time to go, but it won't be a clean break, and I'm glad I'll retain a connection to Chicago. it will be fun to come back for pure recreation, to enjoy the good without the jobs and the commute and the mundane drudgery.
In the meantime, there is always more stuff to do. So it's time to finish my iced tea here at Sol Cafe, and bike back to the apartment and the critters and the boxes.
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