it's like the eye of a duck

At long last! Reconnected to the internet with a real keyboard so I can type something of substance!

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up:

( The move )

( Post-move )

( Post-post-move )

( hell bent for linkage )

( Upcoming )

House: Still up to my eyebrows in boxes and scheduling. We have 3 days between closing and moving, so I'm using the time to have the air ducts and fireplaces cleaned - I figure it will be easier without furniture potentially in the way.

We still haven't tackled the unfinished part of the basement. I can't speak for D., but I know I've been avoiding it. I've already gone through the fabric stash twice but dread facing whatever else I've accumulated over the years.

Current events: I'm still stunned about the Colorado theater shooting, and my heart sinks a little more every time I see that the victim count go up. The continuing coverage isn't informative beyond that - developments are slow, yet the demands of the 24 hour news cycle means that the media is filling the time with foolish speculation. I really hope this doesn't get pinned on geek culture or fans; my personal guess (I do it too, yeah, yeah) is that the Holmes chose the theater simply because he knew the premiere of a summer blockbuster would be packed.

Between this and Salon's cruelty on the border story, I am reminded why I don't follow news as closely as I used to. I don't ENJOY being misanthropic, but <rant>What is wrong with these people!? I get that illegal immigrants are breaking the law (need for immigration reform is another rant), but they shouldn't have to die for it. Leaving water in the desert assures that at the least they're alive to be sent back to their countries of origin. And the acts of the border control agents in the article are pointless sadism for...what? Because they can (also saving rant how law enforcement sometimes attracts power mad bullies)?</rant>

Fencing: wearing myself out with tiring "dancing" footwork and trying to get out of the bad habit of attacking out of range. Also, I'm involved in creating a fencing fashion blog (details forthcoming).

Tangential: the complaints about Twitter and Facebook destroying written communication holds true, at least for me. dustdaughter has rightly pointed out that with only 140 characters, everyone winds up sounding like Rorschach from "Watchmen", and while typing the comparatively huge tome above I found myself mixing tenses, repeating verbs, and dropping articles left and right. Maybe this is another bad habit to break.

I've been trying to stay unemotional about the whole house buying process, and while I've convinced my forebrain, my nervous system isn't on board yet.

Yesterday we made our first house tours with the realtor. We're finding that in order to find something we like but stay in our price range, we're having to look a little further from the town center than we'd hoped.

Which isn't awful, as we told the agent we wanted to stay close to major roads and metro stops, and her selections do that, but there's still something about inner residential roads that pinches like a cross between claustrophobia and cabin fever.

I know where this is coming from: my teenage years in the exurbs with no nearby parks, shops, or public space of any kind, no sidewalks, and no car has left me determined to never live anywhere that makes me feel so isolated and helpless EVER EVER AGAIN.

I know it's illogical. I have a car so my childhood hinderance is moot. I have been a bit spoiled by living the past 10+ years within walking distance of a grocery store and a bus stop. But I still get tetchy if I can't see sidewalks and at least a 7-Eleven.

D. and I have both agreed we don't want to move to East Jesus for a McMansion-style "dream house", but I'm surprised at how short a distance it takes to trigger all my old anxieties.