Period of Adjustment

I moved into this apartment a week ago last Sunday. It’s taken me this long to figure out where everything is and is supposed to be. I’m over the worst of it. Even Tolstoy has wandered around, settled in and has found his sleeping places. We’re both adjusting.

I once heard that the reason the earth’s population is what it is…well, it’s because women forget the awfulness of labor. I’ve never met a woman who said she liked labor pains or could not wait to endure them again. Women, you tell me. Did I get it right, or am I the standard delusional male? When my wife was in labor with our second child, she spent most of labor cursing me out for having done this to her.

As far as moving itself, I forget how terrible the whole experience is or can be. I’m still not quite over it, though I’m working on it. I don’t want to leave here, I don’t want to have to go through that garbage again. You find stuff you didn’t know you had, and you can’t figure out why you kept it. For someone like me–a pack-rat–it’s even more difficult to get rid of stuff even if you don’t need or really want it. “Oh, what will I do if I want something five years down the road?” It sounds like a question for a job interview (I vaguely remember those). Well, get used to it, get another, or just shut up.

I’ve still got to cook a meal here. I’ve been doing the restaurant route thing since I got here: not expensive places, God knows, just nice sandwich and taco places, along with Amy’s Omelette House, one of the best places I’ve ever eaten on the Jersey Shore. Or I can go up into Highlands north of Sea Bright, and eat at Chilango’s, just the best Mexican place I’ve ever been to, at least in New Jersey. There are lots more opportunities here than there were in Bristol, PA. There are good Chinese take-out places, pizzerias, and all sorts of other things.

And yes, I’m a lot closer to New York than I was up until a week or so ago.

‘T’ain’t bad at all.

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