Or maybe it's already here? I'm back in Seattle, which is grey and windy and wet. And I totally ate shit this morning when I slipped on one of those metal sidewalk cover-things on my way to the bus. So not only do I have a broken cuboid, I now have a big, fat, bruised right knee.
Is there some kind of award for this? Because if so, please nominate me. I need a trophy for my bookcase.
"How do you like Seattle?"
I get this question at least three times a week.
My go-to answer: "So far, I love it. But ask me again in April, after I haven't seen sun for six months."
Advice I've received: Start taking Vitamin D. In fact, start taking it yesterday. Plan a trip to Mexico or Hawaii for February or March. Buy a good raincoat; only tourists carry umbrellas.
Don't step on the metal.
I've begun making a list of things to keep me occupied when there is no daylight and my pant hems are permanently soggy and all I want to do is ingest entire vats of stew and chili and soup in one sitting.
So far, this includes: Finding a gym that has a normal-sized pool because my current gym's pool is five yards short, which drives me absolutely insane. Setting up my bike trainer without having some sort of freak accident in my living room. Relearning to knit for the express purpose of making ridiculous cat-sized garments. Watching all of Buffy, all over again, perhaps more than once. Reading all of the books I own but have never read (there is a surprisingly large number).
And perhaps -- just perhaps: Writing again.
As the plane landed last night, I thought about that first time, when I arrived with a car full of all of my most important things (cats, bike, cooking utensils). It's a weird feeling, when you move to a new city and you don't know what the months ahead will hold and you wonder if the landscape around you will ever feel familiar.
But now, when those wheels touch the ground, it's different. It's relief. It's gratitude. It's home.