Four Months Later

I’m going to skip the whole self-loathing “I haven’t blogged in four months” BS. It’s not like people were reading this anyway. But before I get into what’s happened during the past four months, I’d like to bring your attention to a quote from my last, September 30th, blog. It read:

If I wanted damp and bone-chilling cold, I would have moved to Maine or Vermont.
I think I’d like Maine or Vermont a lot. The only thing that keeps me away is,
you guessed it, the damp and bone-chilling cold.

And the long and the short of it is that I was sold a totally false bill of goods when it comes to Kentucky and weather. When I woke up on Monday it was 5 degrees. It didn’t get above 15 that day. We haven’t seen 30 in at least a week. I’m thinking that the word “mild” in terms of “mild winters” means something radically different here in the Midwest than it does in, say, Louisiana. Maybe it means “mild” as in, “It’s mild enough that the squirrels don’t freeze mid-motion like little furry lawn sculpture.”

In the past four months:

• Jason and I have officially called off the relationship. We’re still best friends, we’re still roommates, but we’ve done away with the flimsy, in-name-only couple-dom.
• I spent Christmas with the family on the Outer Banks.
• I painted the kitchen “Kimono Blue,” or, as I prefer to call it, “Painter’s Tape Blue.”
• We rearranged the living room.
• We finally got the dryer fixed—in November!
• Spent Thanksgiving with Jason’s family.
• The Democrats took both houses.
• I finally joined the 21st century and got an iPod—thanks to Mom and Jason.
• I signed on for another summer with CTY. This summer I will be teaching Literature & the Arts at Saratoga during the second session.
• We bought an outdoor fireplace.
• I have not been back to New Orleans.
  

I’ve been toying with starting a new blog, but I don’t really want to do away with this one—after all, I am still stunningly, maddeningly homesick. I’ve basically decided that it’s going to take me a full year to get over the New Orleans blues. And maybe that’s doing me a disservice—to resign myself to having the mean reds for a year. But honestly, I think I had to cut myself that slack. I was starting to feel really crummy about my lack of drive to embrace my new home fully.

I love Louisville (except for the weather). I love my house. I like my job. And I can’t think of another city where I’d rather be (except New Orleans). And I realized a little while ago that the problem was not with Louisville. The problem was with me. I’m missing a piece of my heart, and that’s okay. It’s acceptable. I will, no doubt, get over it. I just need to get through the mourning period. (That being said, I know people who’ve mourned husbands for less time than I’ve mourned damned NOLA).