This Is That

I have two days off coming up again after my day shift tomorrow. I think I’ll use them to drive around and leave copies of my book everywhere. Anybody want a Superball drop-in? I could put a couple visits into the itinerary.

I’m getting a full refund from the airline booking site (Kiwi.com). Hallelujah! At least I can start from scratch and they don’t get any extra benefit from me for their lackluster customer service. I’m now waiting on Aer Lingus after I submitted a form today requesting their special student rates. However that pans out, I can now fly to Ireland sooner — probably leaving August 21 at the latest, at least a full week earlier than I originally planned! That is working out amazingly.

I doctored the broken tail and cracked leg of my unicorn, Serendipity, with rainbow tie-dye “Duck Tape” in anticipation of journeying north for a handoff in three weeks. Also going along will be my plant, Spider-Planty (for the second time — a well-traveled plant), and my magicalest little box of magical things. They will be looked after until a day when we might all come together again — once I become a rich novelist resident in Ireland and can afford to ship everything. Or something like that.

Even though all this is happening and I feel better than I did for a while, I still feel a bit glum. I guess it just doesn’t seem real yet, and it still feels like I have so far to go, with so many complete unknowns.

My selves keep having conversations about it:

“Of course I’m moving to Ireland. That’s just the sort of thing I would do.”

“Wait . . . but what am I doing? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“Yes, you do. You know exactly what you’re doing: following your heart, same as always. What is this concern? You’re an adventurer! And you know you can’t very well stay here.”

“No, that’s true. There’s nothing for me here.”

“So . . . okay. It doesn’t get any clearer than that. The question is what we’re going to do in the meantime.”

“Isn’t it always.”

“We could do a blog post.”

“Sure, let’s do that.”

“What do we have to write about, though?”

“Oh, all the things. Thises and thats.”

“This is that.”

“Indeed.”

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