through your eyes the strains of battle, like a brooding storm

(Now with 27% fewer typographical errors! Sorry--dashed off the first version of this while I was taping boxes together and coordinating what to bring out from the garage for the first load sent to the storage unit. Oops.)

I woke up this morning
Now I understand
What it means to give your life
To just one man
Afraid of feeling nothing
No bees or butterflies
My head is full of voices
And my house is full of lies

Home is what you make it. Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in.

Home is changing.

This is home, home
And this is home, home
This is home

If all goes according to plan, home will be in limbo for at least a week, hopefully no longer. My already scarce appearances in world will likely go nonexistant--for a while, at least.

This, friends and neighbors, is as close as I ever want to get to a full First Life confessional, here. I am more than happy, most of the time, barring tech news, movie trailers and music, to ignore that I have a First Life most of the time.

This situation changed that.

I found your standing there
When I was seventeen
Now I'm thirty-two
And I can't remember what I'd seen in you
I made a promise
Said it everyday
Now I'm reading romance novels
And I'm dreaming of yesterday

I'm not going to go into why--those of you who know me well enough to ask can ask, if you haven't already. And most of you who do know, have been fairly busy being appalled, worried, or hand-holding, frankly.

Or all three.

This is home, home
And this is home, home
This is home

But this is about to change. How things will (with any luck) play out:

On Saturday, the 29th of August, we load everything we can possibly load in a borrowed car and unload it into a storage unit across town. Whatever won't fit--that we're keeping--comes with us; the cats go off to the pet hospital for updates on their shots and storage for the few days (again, hopefully) on their own.

Then off we go to a motel--no internet, near as we can figure, local phone only, cable of some kind, wee fridge, microwave if we're lucky--and spend a week in one room, breathing, and letting some of the last two years of stress go.

I'd like to see the Riviera
And slow-dance underneath the stars
I'd like to watch the sun come up
In a stranger's arms

After that, if all continues to go well, we're off into our own place, which has free net (Hallelujah! People with PRIORITIES!), and we can work out the other details later.

This is Plan A.

This is home, home
And this is home, home
This is home

If Plan A fails to work, Plan B goes into effect, which involves considerably more work, planning, financial outlay, uprooting to an entirely new state and replanting there, and far from ideal, let alone enjoyable, accommodations. It does have the virtue of having one of my loves in residence, so you know, it's not all bad.

So that's it. Plan A, Plan B. No idea which one is going to play out, though we're pulling with all our strength of will for the first one. Trying not to bite my nails down to the bone waiting.

I'm going crazy
A little at a time
And everything I wanted
Is now driving me away
I woke this morning
To the sound of beating hearts
Mine is full of questions
And it's tearing yours apart...

And, one way or another, eventually we get back to a place with net access before September is over. One way or another.

I just have to wait and see which way it's going to go. And how far we'll need to hop.

At this point? Welcome to the Train-Wreck Life.

This is home, home
And this is home, home
This is home

(Lyrics taken from Sheryl Crow's song, Home.)