I got the nomad blues.

Tomorrow, once again, I am moving. (Or re-moving, I suppose.) With dusty boxes of miscellany cluttering the floor of my childhood bedroom, the thermometer reading -9 in the mornings, an ancient and loyal pup slumbering quietly in the next room, and Jake Weller nervously imagining the heaps of gaudy kitsch about to descend upon his thus-far minimalistic existence, I am a little stressed.

Good thing Erin gave me worry dolls for Christmas. BIG ONES.

Here is a cat-like-description of how I am feeling, of late. Thanks to Suzanne. “I had a most productive morning,” she writes.

Miss Kitty is DANCIN'

Meet you in Huntingdon, oh sweet bros of mine.

(And happy birthday to two great Moms! Both of whom are inordinately cat-blog-supportive.)


About bearicaquinn

Smallish, smushy in the sad parts, certainly destined for cat-lady-dom. Enjoys boats, bikes, black coffee, pug faces, sourdough bread, the morning when you have slept long enough, beards, mountainsides, art, rooftops, etc. Will continue to live in things that are interestingly shaped. So octopus.
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One Response to I got the nomad blues.

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