I feel strange. Our move has always been something on the horizon - within sight, but comfortingly removed at the same time. Now it seems to be hurtling towards us with all the subtlety of an earth-destroying meteorite. Not that I'm comparing the move to a meteorite, really - I'm excited about it, but it is inevitably scary at the same time. LOML will be in Austin in two weeks or so. Two weeks! That's very soon. I am going to be here for a bit longer, but I'll be going over for a couple of weeks in June before coming back here for all of July. And then we move officially in the first week of August, Mink and furniture and books and clothes and cups and plates and all. There is so much to organise before then - getting my full driver's licence, for one thing (I've been lazy about it - I have been driving on my restricted licence for years, meaning I can't drive in the middle of the night or carry passengers who don't have licences). I am trying to surf the waves of craziness without letting them dump me into a metaphorical sandbar, but it is quite difficult. I feel increasingly distanced from my friends and family here, and the blogosphere too, because I'm a bit over-absorbed in my own thoughts and worries - I need to take some time to reconnect with everyone, rather than just making endless to-do lists and chasing my tail. Anyway. I will leave you with a story:
I went out to breakfast this morning with some friends. Shortly afterwards, as I was walking along the city streets in my bright yellow winter coat, a woman came up to me.
"I love your coat!"
"Thank you!" That coat gets a lot of comments - probably because it is extremely bright and hard to miss.
So far, a nice, amiable exchange. Then the woman comes right up to me and starts feeling the sheepskin collar and searching for the label at the back of the coat, as if I am a mannequin in a shop window. I was so taken aback that the words in my head came out of my mouth without the usual 'Does this sound mad? Yes. Sounding mad scares people. Don't say it,' filter that my words usually pass through.
"And now you're touching me," I said. "Why are you touching me?"
"Is this coat really modern or really old?" she said.
"Really old."
She would not stop touching my coat. She was eyeing the hem. I had visions of her bending down and examining it.
"It's not for sale," I said. Actually I didn't. I wish I had. Instead I gave her a weird, fixed smile and backed away. It was all a bit odd.
