I woke up weirdly early this morning (4am, ugh), mostly thinking about Canela, and just missing her, even that noxious breathe. As I got up and puttered around, hoping to get sleepy again, I saw that Scott had marked today. It's been exactly 3 years since I drove from Los Angeles, CA to Durham, NC. I rolled in my beloved silver Jetta (RIP) filled to the brim with the last bits of my LA life.
I was trying to surprise Scott for dinner at MnMnz's, but the horrific hailstorm (and freeway construction) that nailed me in Charlotte (and followed me for many hours) conspired to a much later arrival.
I can't remember if we ended up crashing at MnMnz's or if we rolled over to Hobbit House. Since the furniture (and dogs) were already settled at "home", I think we must have ended up there.
It's a little odd, but I felt like the move to Durham was the first "me" powered move/relocation. Although I loved LA, I was much more compelled to go there by people than compelled by the place. I felt compelled to move to and live in Durham. And after 3 years? I'm little less rabid, but I still love Durham.
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