Rolling in Sheep

Back in October, I thought I was being so clever to avoid all the "What's next?" questions that accompany any major life change - like marriage or graduation or moving house/country. I laughed me all the way to Africa in my cleverness. I laughed from Africa to the Middle East, and from there to Asia and even laughed in Australia. Well, the laughing stopped about three days after we landed at SFO. All those questions weren't avoided so much as they were postponed. We have since had a head-on collision, them in their Hummer and me in my Geo Metro. (They won.) I am now mired in a morass of WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?

While it may not sound like returning to SF for the summer was a brilliant plan, it has managed to answer one question about where I want to live: Not here, at least not right now. It seems that almost everywhere we've been has been a whole lot of "Not here". Which begs the question, "Then Where?" The answer is contained within a multidimensional scatterplot with axes like (but not limited to) job availability, job likability, friendliness quotient, distance from family, minimum temperature, proximity to water, language barriosity, and cost of living. It's a complicated business trying to make decisions for two people.

On Monday night, waiting for the 49 bus (our new Muni friend which I already hate), Zack pointed out that I have street humor. This is not to imply that I have a potty mouth (which I do, but that's not the point), but rather that my humour is spur-of-the-moment, spy-a-shiny-thing-on-the-ground-and-pick-it-up in character. At least I usually laugh.

And on Saturday, Bill taught us a new game the name of which I've already forgotten but which was great fun. It involved Zack rolling in sheep. And we haven't even got to New Zealand yet.