In thinking about the prospective move, it began to seem like a better and better idea. I would be close to my southern California friends again, yet within easy driving distance of San Francisco. I would be able to live with Bruce for a while, enjoying gourmet cooking and bubble baths. I would be earning more than a pittance for a fucking change. I would have the time and money to travel.

And oh-- I would spend two glorious weeks being unemployed, packing and selling and organizing my stuff, and being as social a butterfly as I ever dreamed of being.

And yet, now that I've started telling people, Hey, looks like this is happening, it's the down side that is coming to the forefront. What if I am taking a step backward instead of forward? What if this is not the bravest thing to do? What if my sister can't get me a job? What if my friendships can't survive the extra distance? What if I can't get my bike fixed for free anymore?

The big things and the little things.

I feel the need to extract promises of devotion from my friends, create extensive spreadsheets called "Life Plan," and consult Aeon the psychic. Anything to make the transition easier. (It's the Saturn return doing this to me, I swear it is.)

Part of the problem is my father, who deflated me like a balloon with the pin of his parental disapprobation. (Wow. There's an overwritten metaphor if I ever heard one. Apparently I feel the need to hide behind figurative language.) I talked to him today and instead of saying, "Yay! Good plan!" he said things like, "With your education, you could do much better." Way to prey on my deepest insecurities, dad. Thanks.

The truth is, he doesn't quite understand the concept of retrenching. The reasons why working for my sister would be an honor (even if I was "just a PA") because she's a goddamn professional. The idea that whether you work at Starbucks or at Harvard (in the immortal words of Reality Bites) the only thing you have to be, at the age of twenty-seven, is yourself.

Let's see-- I have creative work that I'm proud of, friends who love me, a sense of perspective, a great work ethic, and I live my life with joy. By my standards, I'm doing okay. Yet, he is constantly insisting that I am not.

You can imagine how putting myself back in the path of his paternal care is not sitting too well with me at the moment. My new instinct is to pack up the U-Haul and drive in the opposite direction. Maybe to Oregon; I've always wanted to live in Oregon.

Anyway, at least I know that moving is the right thing to do, because I still feel good about those changes. Moving out of my hobbit hole into a place with light. Quitting my retail job at last-- goddamn, I am tired of smiling at assholes all day.

A few practical details have been falling into place. When I drive down for my birthday weekend (in March) I am going to bring a bunch of boxes full of stuff that I've been saving in my exploding closet. (One box is labeled "I am SO OVER these clothes.") My mother said she will have a yard sale for me and give me the money. Excellent!

I could use the money. I didn't mention that I had to buy a printer recently. I got a laser printer, and I was pondering the idea of returning it (you have 30 days or something) because it was expensive but I absolutely adore it. Even still, I was shocked to open my credit card bill and see a $500 balance-- I thought there was $200 on that card! And then there's my other credit card, where all my payments to the mechanic and the vet are still lurking expensively.

I would like to make ends meet for a while. Hell, I would like to make ends overlap. I would like to stop working myself to the bone and getting nothing but bills in return. I will sell my soul to the highest bidder. (Which thought makes me worry: is that what Los Angeles is? Mephistopheles?)

Anyway. My old car has become a comedy of crappyness once again. I got a notice on the windshield that said they were going to tow it (and charge me lots of money) if it wasn't moved a mile under its own power. The car wouldn't start, so I called AAA and got a jump, then drove it around and around the block like an asshole until I had gone a mile. The next day I went to start it again, and it wouldn't start. Argh.

I can't imagine why I ever thought I'd be able to sell it. Apparently it is a terminal case and I should just put it out of its misery. Does anyone have any idea of how to go about donating a car? Who accepts car donations? Better yet, is there a way to sell it to a junkyard or something so I can at least get something for it? How do I do that?

Also looming over my head are this year's taxes. No taxes were taken out of my proofreading checks, and I received a rather large bequest when my grandmother died. It's worth a decent chunk of change, except that I don't actually get the change until many years pass. I suspect that the federal gub'mint will see it somewhat differently because, on paper, my net worth is considerably higher. (Maybe when I show them my giant student loan debt, they will feel pity for me.)

Man, I could keep talking and talking about this crap. The absolute minutia of my life. I may as well post the Life Plan spreadsheet at this point. I should be more like Lisa and post kinky photos of myself every so often to keep people interested. Maybe next time.

I used my Christmas gift card to buy Sim City 4 yesterday. I still haven't figured out how it works, but I think I am going to go play with it. I will make a tiny little town where everyone is happy and everything is easy and everyone loves everyone else, and I will imagine myself living there. The land where I live happily after (with Prince Charming, of course) and everything turns out according to plan.