Okay, this may be it for awhile. Meaning, tomorrow or so I plan to pack up my computer, along with the rest of my shit, and move it over to Dad�s. This morning, I dealt with the last bit of stress, and I�m okay now. In order to get through my mood, I just needed to have a little tantrum of sorts, alone, because God forbid anyone actually were to witness one of my tantrums. After said tantrum, I felt much better and got to work packing, cleaning, organizing and throwing away. I was a little miffed that Jen is in Vegas this weekend, when I am here packing and cleaning our home, but I got over that quickly. She�s having fun, I�m sure, and I pretty much own everything here anyway.

Last night was like Disneyland and Cirque de Soleil (spellcheck) in one! My friends threw a fundraiser/party at the Children�s Museum downtown. Trapeze artists, stilt walkers, dancers, interactive art, musicians, dj�s, and so much more! I drank in the sights around me, just so much activity happening, and for such a good reason: children. I was able to spend a bit of time with a lot of folks I rarely get to see. I didn�t stay too late, felt a bit tired and stressed, so I absquatulated. You know, interesting thing on that Barbarism I use so often. The word itself (as you should know already if you looked it up at my prodding months ago) means to leave in a hurry, or to abscond. Since I�m a bit of an etymology freak, I decided to check out the origin to such an absurdly pronounced word. And what I found? Mock-Latin, adopted by Brits, �to go off and squat elsewhere�.

Because as we know, the prefix �ab� indicates �away from�, and the suffix, �ate�, indicates a form of action, to act in a specified manner. So why not stick �squat� right in the middle of it, fancy it up as �squatul�, and you have, "to squat away from". I didn�t have to pee when I left last night, but when I decided it was time to leave, I felt like leaving immediately, without necessarily making the rounds and announcing my departure. Therefore, I absquatulated.

Enough learning for you. There�s a built-in bookshelf in the room I�ll be staying in temporarily at my father�s. When I was there a few weeks ago, I took stock of the reference material, including one of my favorite old books on etymology that disappeared with my Dad when he separated from my mother. Score.

I am excited, you know. I�m going to teach him how to make Chicken Parmigiana with Baked Ziti and he�s going to teach me how to make his special tacos. I�ll live differently for a few months, be up early with tea and the paper, just like when I lived at home as a teenager. Some habits don�t change, and I�ll easily readapt, I�m sure. Yes, living with my father will be fun, educational, intellectually and emotionally stimulating, and much more. What I�m stressed about is the next step AFTER that. But I�m always worried about every 3rd step in front of me when I should be focusing on, enjoying, and learning from the step I�m taking NOW. I hate not being able to see the horizon. All I see is made clear to me only when it�s happening, right in my face, and then, a foggy haze. I really have to meditate on going with the flow right now.

The sea will take me where it�s going to take me, whether the skies are clear or not. So, as I�ve said a million times before, I might as well enjoy the ride, and take each wave as it comes. For all I know, my shore is death. Hence the old adage, �life is in the journey, not the destination.�

-Barbarella

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