My Desk Smells Like Pizza

When I got it into my head to move to Hawaii, my mother told me right off the bat, “You know this means no birthdays (with us), no Christmas (with us), no more seeing the baby, right?” and I said yes. Quickly and without hesitation. I knew I wouldn't be there with my family anymore. (I was actually sort of looking forward to being alone for Christmas and not having to make a huge deal about it.) What I didn't know was that I wouldn't be there for my family.

That may seem like a no-brainer, but, for me, it wasn't. I'm kind of nutsy about my little brother and sister, and absolutely crazy about my niece. I fought with them like I fight with everyone (violently and loudly) but I love them to death. I took my brother out driving (me driving, not him) at least once a week, and we would get some sort of food and just talk for an hour or two. I went out with my little sister to go shopping or, once a month, going to our favorite sushi place and splitting the order. I talked to them (read: lectured them) on these drives, and I'm sure they loved that. And when I found out my older sister was going to have a baby, all I could think about was being an aunt, and, for everything I had in mind, my niece and I would have to be a lot closer—like, at least two states between us. So I didn't realize until I held my first online conversation with my little sister that I couldn't run upstairs and bop her in the face for something stupid she said. I also wouldn't he able to go home every day and talk to my mom and dad. This stuff didn't occur to me until after I'd moved, after I hated my job, hated thinking about money, had my first late phone bill and bad things had happened and my mom couldn't talk sense into me and make me see reason.

With the exception of their living situation, I watch the first seasons of Friends and have surprising affiliation with situations I used to not understand.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THIS BREAKING NEWS: Iron Man just came on my Pandora radio and, oh, dear god, I feel so much better.

[Five and a half minutes of awesomeness later] Anyway.

Ella, my cat, comes home on the 26^th. I work that night at Narbes, but I have the next day off and I'm going to work on getting her to like me again, because I know she won't. I haven't been to visit her in a while, but when I did she would get really pissy, and even bit me once—I wasn't handling her right, but she still put her teeth around my finger, and she's never done that before. So this is probably going to be like when I first got her and I'll have to reestablish the relationship. Good times.