519 Miles

I've been awake for over an hour now.  Since the first rays of sparkling sunlight started coming through the windows.  This is the last morning I will wake up in my bed in my own apartment.  I'm ok with that right now.  There's a beautiful cool breeze coming through the open windows, birds chirping, and the pre-rush hour hum of the traffic on I95.  I'm in love with these sheer golden curtains that I got years ago for my Fishtown Guinness themed kitchen and my giant aloe plant that now enjoys the sill that I've spent so many mornings sitting on with my coffee.  The apartment is beautiful today and I already feel twinges of missing it.

I hear him breathing, still sleeping, in the other room.  His feet are the only thing I can see when I turn and look in.  His feet.  Generic male feet peeking out from the futon.  They could belong to anybody but they don't.  They belong to the man I will marry.  I never thought I would utter those words.  I am shocked and awed. 

In about an hour the day, and this weekend, will start rolling and it won't stop until Monday evening when I arrive in my new home, in North Carolina.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

Yeah, me too.

Truth is, I have no idea what I'm doing but it feels right.  That's something right?  I'm happy.  I feel good about everything that has come my way these past few months.  Life threw a curve ball and I was ready for it.

It's time for contacts and a shower.  Target opens in 45 minutes.  I need packing tape and I need to finish packing.  48 hours until we pack the car and leave Philadelphia!

***

It's a good thing my mother sent my electric blanket and crocheted shawl this week, it's been a cooler than normal July after a wetter than normal June and I've been bundled up.  Wore jeans, a tee, and my hoodie tonight to the gig.... late July in North Carolina and I'm screaming "freezation!" to which he looks at me and laughs and shakes his head. 

It's now been a month since I left Philadelphia.  I've given up on my hair.  My once semi-tamed waist length perfectly spiraling curls have been replaced by a mid-length suffocating poof of curls that behaves as well as the 11 yr old son of a tourist at the condo's pool.  Or as my wonderful other said this morning, "It's not that bad." I flipped upside-down to shake it out of the bun and he followed with, "Well, before you woke it up it wasn't too bad.  .....still.... it's not quite homeless girl, 42nd Street-Port Authority."  Ahaha, well, this is how it's going to be with this southern coast humidity.

My big hair and I are famous here.  I sit at bars, in restaurants, alone, and strangers walk up to me, sit next to me, or put their arms around me and give me a hug and say, "Its so nice to meet you!  I'm ____.  I've heard so much about you, I feel like I know you already!"  I feel welcome.  I don't feel like a stranger.  I don't quite belong but I'm comfortable.

I have yet to see one of those spectacular sunrises over the ocean.  Every morning I wake up after the sun is high in the sky and the tourists are already flocking to the water.  The salt air is thick and I get to admire the ocean quietly through the sliding glass doors to my third floor balcony.  My car is now coated in a sticky layer of sea salt and sand, the windows completely hazed over and rust bubbles have started popping up on the hood.  Still, nothing beats the constant sound of the waves or the salty air and the sand between my toes.  And bless the brown pelicans!  I adore those beautifully ugly birds.