I don't know what to make for dinner. Tacos, maybe, or black bean and squash chili, but that seems like a lot of work for how tired I am. I'd make larb, but I won't have fresh basil until my groceries arrive.

Got the official word on my salary for next year. So that was nice.

I should not have got into bed with my laptop, you guys. I'm not sure how to get myself into the kitchen where the food is.

I have sorrel going in the crockpot. I can't wait until the apartment is suffused with the smell.

This may be the test batch, and then I'll make another one for bon on the weekend. And she damned well better like it. Or...or I'll just drink the whole thing. That'll show her.

"buy twice as much ginger as you're going to use and then save the rest for when you have a stomachache"

I love that.

My mother is love, seriously. I mean, except for the part where she's as scary as fuck.

JESSE. You called me out on the tumblr. That's not nice. Strangers could be watching. They don't need to think ill of me.

Many happy returns, Typo!

JESSE. You called me out on the tumblr. That's not nice. Strangers could be watching. They don't need to think ill of me.

I speak the truth, though! Anyway, I don't think strangers are actually reading.

The picture was totally harmless, and I copied the title from somewhere else, and it totally makes it seem weirder...okay it is weird, but prurient weirder than it is.

Hmmph.

How many followers, Jesse?

Tumblr totally restored my queue from yesterday and threw away my submissions from today. Tossers.

18! Wah-waaah.

Whew! I'm back. Actually, I got back Sunday but it took me this long to get here.

What I said in Bitches: I'm back. We're done. I won't be going back to Hartsville TN ever again. Wow, that feels weird. Not sad, really, just strange. That place that's been an integral part of my life for 43 years is now just memories and a random assortment of furniture and stuff. Of course I *can* go back to visit, any time I want, but I know that I won't. I'm done.

To elaborate: Man, I ache all OVER. Moving furniture is a hell of a workout. Solid wood furniture? HEAVY. But it went really well. The guy who bought the huge upright piano showed up on time, got the piano out of the house, and was gone in like twenty minutes, and he didn't mess up anything! The folks at Penske had the truck ready when we got there, which is a first. Cousins who'd promised to help actually showed up and then they, like, *helped*. The Weather Channel threatened us with snow, the first raindrops fell just as we were closing up the truck, and so instead of staying another (planned but now pointless) night, we drove like mad for nine hours to stay ahead of the storm, and got to my place at midnight. It was amazing, how it all worked out perfectly, as if someone (hi, Mom) was running logistics for us.

Our anticipated tearful nostalgic last walkthrough of the house became a five-minute sweep to make sure we didn't leave anything and a quick good-bye. We looked at each other and said, "Are you all right? Yeah, I'm all right. Good, let's go." It's strange, but it was like leaving a hollow empty shell of something that meant a lot to us once upon a time, but now it's just, you know, just another scrubby farm with an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It's not Home anymore. Home, for me, is right where I'm sitting now and nowhere else, and this is the first time since I moved out for college that that has been entirely true. I'm not sad. I feel like I've set down a burden, like I'm about to step into the rest of my life as just me, without carrying a Past that has to define me, for better or worse.

Wow, didn't mean to get all Deep. Anyway, I'm back!

I think my trash guys are stupid or willfully lazy. Picked up trash and bags of leaves I put at neighbors'...but left my 4 bags and half of next door neighbor's, as well as some down the street. We've a 5 bag limit normal days, so I just don't know. They've also done things like take half my trash or just my leaves. Oh, but they did take the big branches on top of the bags.

At least the city has an online 311 service. I don't have to talk to anyone.

Guys, I have something like 9 or 10 dozen cookies in my fridge. And have to make another 5 for this weekend. Half are trial batches, and will go to work and the neighbors. And then there are the 5 dozen chocolate espresso ones that will go in to the work party tomorrow. But, really? Kinda of excessive.