We put in an offer on a house today, and I'm dearly hoping we get it. Not only 'cause it sounds beautiful, but I'm ready to have a firm destination in mind. No more of this "We're moving, but haven't a notion where yet" nonsense. And yet, much though I want the certainty, it's dreadful to *know* I'm leaving inside a month.

I think of all the things I haven't done in the almost sixteen years I've lived here, all the books I might read at my library---books that the library in my new town might not have---and my favorite coffee house and movie theatre. I think of all the new roads and landscapes and quirky traffic I'm going to have to learn. I think of my wonderful, wonderful church I'll be leaving, my friends and all the memories we have here, and my sister and brother (in-law) that I'll see even less than I do now. And I try to tell myself about this new house and the warmer weather and the people I'll get to meet and the new opportunities and the family living down there, but I'm just...sad.

Yesterday, I spent an utterly sinful morning sipping coffee and browsing used books with mneme_metis. And then today we returned to the used book sale between watching Still Breathing and Amelie. Tomorrow we have yet another movie viewing planned, which will doubtless be followed by more planning of future outings. And I joke that, if we try, she'll be so sick of me by month's end she'll be tossing me halfway to Texas, herself. But, good gracious, she's been my friend for fourteen years---moreover, one of my very closest friends---and I'm heartsick thinking about not seeing her even once every three months.

Someone make me laugh, please?

( ...because I can't leave this on *that* note... )

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