Day two of terminal unemployment: still weird.

So, here I am, disoriented and bleary eyed, taking in the morning talk shows with a steaming cup of coffee from Petsi's Pies. My plans for the day include cleaning, grocery shopping, and should I muster up the motivation, a jog around the river. Is this comparable to being a housewife? All I need are curlers and a screaming infant to nurse. That is not wishful thinking by the way, I'm overjoyed that the only thing screaming right now is Kelly Ripa (easily alleviated by the click of a button). Yesterday morning, I woke up with a start as if out of a coma. My alarm failed to go off (probably directly related to the fact that I had accidentally set it for 10:00PM) and it literally took me 30 seconds to figure out what day of the week it was (what?! 10:30AM, am I late for work?! Wait, is it a weekend?!). The 9-5 schedule I adhered to for nearly 4 years is so ingrained in my daily, weekly happenings, that it's tough to break. This still feels very much like a vacation (featuring a tornado that has managed to rip through my room and tear apart my closet, leaving it's contents strewn about my floor).

My first month of rent for Seattle has been mailed. My room is in the process of being boxed and relocated. And, most importantly perhaps, my plane ticket to Seattle has officially been purchased: One-way, Thursday, September 17th. It was also rather cheap ($109 Jetblue), so make sure to keep that in mind when you're contemplating the best time to come visit the Northwest. For the past few weeks, I put off purchase mostly because I couldn't committ to an actual date (too finite and final), but now that I have, I feel like a weight has been lifted. Now my only concern is figuring out how to maneuver that boat of a Chevy Trailblazer I've rented for Sunday on and off the Port Jeff Ferry. Oh, good times...

Sidenote: I just realized that there's no spellcheck here, the gramatical crutch for 20th century adolescents. Chelsea will inevitably mock me for spelling something like "C'est La Vie" wrong, or some such nonsense (I mean, really? I'm not French. And there's not a hope in hell of looking for any phonetic cues). Try not to judge; and, Chels, try to contain your giggles.