One by one I check in with friends about my move. I write cheery little notes about change & planning. I tell them about packing the car, securing flapping straps. I mention my Angel Frog – a back pocket companion, a leftover cat toy that crows “rib-it, rib-it, rib-it” with every speed bump or left turn. (Somehow I know it won’t drive me crazy on the trip as I think of it as my cheering section. It’s already fading out, alas.)

My friend K tells me she is melancholy & cannot shake it. My friend G tells a tale of unexpected & furious disappointment via betrayal of trust. My friend B lists a 3″ text of unexpected diagnoses resulting from a quick physical checkup. My friend L is dying of pulmonary fibrosis, a shuddering-awful passing.

Each renders me more determined to make this trip West. I move to a town in throes of change after decades of unimprovement & slow fade, of City Commissioners quarreling with almost no civic money for the long-neglected fixes needed to bring it into the 1960’s, let alone the 21st Century.

I’m going there to be happy. It’s the only reason to go anywhere, would you not agree?

What makes me different … outlook? mindset? presence? a preference for clown clothes? insomnia?

I just am. How fortunate for me!

The formula for the live I live works for me. To list things might be considered a brag. I know my worth in realtime, so, no need for any detail.

I appreciate. I share. I laugh a lot as life is more like Laugh-In than Forensic Files. Little has power enough to affect me for very long. I feel as tho my ‘bad times/sad times’ have just fizzled out from trying to keep up.

Once I read an exchange:

“You’re a real Pollyanna!”

“So? Pollyanna led a very happy life!”

Sounds like a mantra to me…