Things About Where I Live

It's true. I watched the neighbors sawing a 6 foot fence post down to about 2.5" the other day, with a Sawzall, for the perpetual bonfire in their yard that they like to drink around. All day. Every day. They have the cleanest yard in town. They have raked it down to mineral soil. To keep their fire going. Safe to say they are the shining expample of a defensible space in our town. A safe space? Not so much, consider the less-than-advisable undertaking of sawzalling your fenceposts drunk. But still, quite tidy.

There was really no way to top off that reality-not-tv experience other than going to Taco Tuesday at Kuks. There I had a lengthy conversation with Jesus about the redeemability of my ex husband, and sat audience to an expert lecture on facial hair in romantic relationships. I am just going to leave that one right there and walk away.

I love where I live. People (ok, person) were standing in line to tell me how awesome my newspaper stories are while I discussed the bitterweet dilemma of doing absolutely nothing for spring break with half of my neighborhood.

I have friends who will faithfully jog/walk just ahead of me like a carrot on a stick so that I can make time on my practice runs for the pack test. I have people who feed me beer. And burgers. And Bananas. And ones who buy me tickets to super fun music shows and take me out to dinner and make me laugh and are just the coolest.

Everything in my life isn't perfect right now, but it's just right. Just the right amount of ache from working out. And tension from barely making it. It will be ok and it will be fun on the way there.

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