I signed the lease today for a house. The Frenchman and I shall be nesting there shortly. Me first, then him when he returns in August. It’s rather pretty inside, although not much to see from the outside. Our neighbor on one side writes for Adult Swim and the neighbors on the other side work for the FBI. A lovey-dovey pair of perverts just makes that row complete, don’t you think?
Now if only Uncle Walt would get on the stick and foist upon me all this darned work they said they were about to foist upon me. Dammit.
I’m going to need this new place to recuperate. Everyone’s been asking about my transition. So far, it’s a mixed bag. Where I am staying now with E/T helps, but I need a more comfortable place to write. That, I think, will make all the difference in the world. Little things are hitting me, like realizing I won’t see The Frenchman’s family for a while, nor the friends I made there. That chokes me up at unexpected moments. Things like food and climate are definitely impacting me, not to mention scenery. I badly miss seeing vineyards from the freeway. But food definitely has my system upside down at the moment. I’m walking every day and lifting free weights to combat stress. My vocabulary is weird. I’ve got French words stuck where English words should be, but thankfully not too many. My brain is still not functioning properly. Certain words in English lag behind by about a minute. Like the word “driveway” or even “boilerplate.” Why? I have no idea. I don’t even know the word in French for either. Mostly, I just feel soggy between the ears and given to moments of intense longing. The Frenchman being away doesn’t help.
And now I’m going to think about either falling asleep or writing. Let’s see which one wins…