On nomadic life…and happy surprises

I’ve been very fussy lately. Yeah, those of you that know me, way more than normal. Can you believe it? Aren’t you glad you’re not exposed to it daily? I think that I’ve pinpointed why…I am not meant to live like a nomad.

Granted, I have a fantastic set of parents that have let me all but take over the back part of their house. My things are all over one of the bedrooms. There are enough renaissance festival gowns hanging in the “big room” to make Elizabeth I’s closet cry out in jealousy and shame. But it isn’t MY space.

I have fabulous friends that let me stay over at their houses when I need to travel for work. I have an absolute SAINT who is keeping our new greyhound, Clown, until I have a permanent place to go that allows dogs. But that isn’t my space.

I had an almost breakdown Monday night at the prospect of more traveling. This week it is particularly busy because I’m working two days in Greenville and interviewing for a full time job in Charleston in between. But I slept on it, packed my bag, and headed north on autopilot…

…and it’s all fine. Jobs in Greenville sorted. Interview to prepare for but really…I am what I am and this is the third one so…? Good tunes and a good car to drive down to the beach.

Life at the beach could be incredible. What’s the happy surprise then? That I’m still hanging on and in…that I’ve been living from a suitcase since May and I’m getting to be okay with it…and that the trousers I bought yesterday were too big. Happy surprises, all of them. Here’s to having another happy surprise after that interview tomorrow…

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