. . . I’m out of wine. For a start.
For another thing, if we end up moving to Oklahoma then I will be demanding a lot of acreage. Houses and land come cheap in the back of beyond. If deprived of immediate access to civilization, I will demand at least plenty of space in which to go nuts. Perhaps I could buy a pony. I always wanted a pony. We will wear cowboy hats and boots. I will buy turquoise. Willie Nelson will be the soundtrack to our lives. I will know more Native American people. Our house will have a tornado shelter. I will long for trees, and ocean, and any green thing, though we will have fabulous mountain camping nearby, our solace.
If we end up moving to Charleston, a dream of which we no longer speak, lest we wither and collapse in disappointment if it is not realized – if we end up moving to Charleston, I will live in a tiny house with no space and be over the moon. I will be near the ocean. I will be near the city, a city I love. We will be a handful of miles from the town where we were married. I will get a job driving those horse drawn carriages and learn how to charm tourists, and Jack will help me feed the horses.
I see a horse theme developing here.
If we end up moving to Tennessee, I will be living within an hour of my mother for the first time in 13 years. I don’t even feel old enough to say "the first time in 13 years" yet, but there we are. Although if my mother remains true to form, she will instantly pack up shop and move ten states away.
If we end up moving abroad, then I will bear two more children in foreign countries. They will speak accented English, and we will travel all over Europe while they are small. We will rent a tiny place, and buy cheap broken furniture, because we will one day return to America. It will be an adventure, and one that would thrill me, though it will disappoint our parents. I’m a parent now, so I know more about what that means. It will be temporary, and it will be wonderful, and we will embrace the experience breathlessly, nervously.
If we end up staying here, I’ll get to stay here. And though we weary of our tiny home . . . and my horrid job . . . we do love it here.
So, in short, we will be happy wherever we go. Now. I just neeeeeeeeeeed to know where that is. I must know. Dear gods of anticipation: you’ve had your fun, now leave my raw nerves in peace. Tell me what is happening. Tell me which of the fifty states (or zillion countries) I will next call home. I can no longer suffer the agony of ignorance. I must prepare. There are turquoise jewels to be bought/jobs to be found/parents to thrill or disappoint/planning to be done.
Out of wine, but not out of whine. Always plenty of that to go around.