Macaroni and Eggs

So, we’re going to stay friends, and I’m grateful for that at least.

This morning, at about 9AM, I woke up to the sound of a Fat John and Nujabes tune set as my ringer.  It was a bit earlier to wake up than I would have prefered, because I only got to bed this morning at about 2AM, but it follows in the long string of things I have to deal with on this new scenario I’ve loaded up for myself, simply entitled “What’s Next?”

That’s where I’m at now.  The financial security is there with my permanent position at the hospital.  I’m now living out in NDG and the last of my move is done.  That pretty much secures finances and shelter– clothing, I’ve got too much.

At this point, it’s a matter of getting into the groove of all that stuff, the little things that make up living an independant life.  That means phoe calls at 9AM from Quynh.

“Heya dude.  Are you awake?”


“I forgot to get the phone number of the U-Haul place.  Can you get that to me?  It’s on the contract on the kitchen table.”

“One sec.” (Shuffle, crash, billigerance.) “It’s 555-XXX-XXXX.”

“Dude, that’s my phone number. Check next to the U-Haul address, not mine.”

“Fawk.” (Rumple, crinkle.) “It’s 555-YYY-YYYY.”

I wasn’t going to go back to sleep, because my 11-hour shift starts at 11:30AM and I haven’t had breakfast yet, so I got up, started boiling some water, chopping some vegetables.

I made myself breakfast while listening to some classic rock on 97.7 and by the time I powered this laptop on, it hit me, really, that it’s all come to this– I am right here, right now.  And as strange as that seems as a revelation, or maybe even as a reiteration of a feeling previously attained but forgotten, it feels good to live in a proverbial place that I’m building and chosing a brick at a time.