It took an Internet connection to make this place feel like home.

Is this the sign of the times?  Or is this a clear indicator that I have Internet addiction?

My love is back in town ... with her middle daughter ... so we are only seeing each other for breakfast and lunch at the moment.  It's not enough, but, it's every day!  And for some reason it feels uber romantic.  Two "dates" a day, and then I walk her to her car in the evening.  We were planning to ride in together from my place but I decided it's trouble in the making -- what if she has to rush off to be with her kids or something?  I'd be stranded, and I don't know anyone here besides her that I can call for a 17 mile ride home.

As I'd promised, I've uploaded pictures of "The Loft" in all its rustic splendor, as well as a video I took ... while driving ... during a severe thunderstorm in the middle of the night, in the middle of Kansas.

Just call me "Danger Boy." 

My love is still out of town, and here I am again, stopping by to feed the fish and use the dial up Internet.

• I did take pictures of The Loft, but can't really upload them until I get my broadband.
• No Internet + No Girlfriend + Lots of Time = Major Work Done On Novel!  I boosted the word count by about 5000 words over the last few days.
• No Internet also equals No Instant Research.  Interestingly enough, that hasn't really been a problem, though for some reason (amazing foresight?) I printed out a lot of research material before I started this whole moving process, and so had many of the facts I needed as hardcopy for this weekend's writing binge.
• I did not move up here with a TV nor do I intend to get one.  That's right, I have NO TELEVISION.  I don't miss it at all.  What I do miss, however, is my microwave oven.  Without it I feel like I'm camping or something. 
• I will catch up with you all later this week.  Promise!

Quick update:

• Won't have broadband at The Loft until sometime next week, so won't be around much until then.  I'm on dial-up AOL at my love's right now.
• Lady Savina left town, going to meet in Nashville with her future-ex and middle daughter.  It's kid visitation time.
• She may or may not be bringing middle daughter back here with her.  If middle daughter is here, I'll be spending a lot of time at The Loft.
• The Loft is ... it has, um, lots of ... character.  Yes, that's the word for it.  If it were in the inner city I'd call the place a dump, but being that it's in the country and is over 100 years old, it's not really a dump it's ... character.  Definitely.  The building used to be a general store.  The apartment itself would be termed a "studio" apartment if it weren't so huge.  It's much bigger than my old two-bedroom in McKinney.  High ceilings, archways, lots of tall windows ... totally uneven floors, totally bizarre and wacked-out ceiling, huge weird bathroom that is a major waste of space (it could almost be a bedroom).  The place is definitely a small-town country version of a loft apartment.
• That's it for now.  Gotta go pull laundry out of the drier, feed the fish, and head back over to The Loft.  I just hung window blinds and am now going to attempt to move my meager furnature into a zen feng shui arrangement. 
• Happy 4th of July!

I'm with my lady love now!

It doesn't feel real.  It feels like a dream.  My mind is also not convinced that I won't be going back to Texas "after this trip is over."  Part of me, somehow, has not comprehended this isn't just another visit.  That this is where I actually live, now.

I'm not in The Loft yet, though.  Everything I own is in a little trailer still hooked to my car, sitting our here on Lady Savina's farm, because my move in date isn't until July 1st.  Maybe when I'm ............

The realitor just called.  I can go move in NOW.  So, what I was going to say is, maybe when I'm all moved into The Loft it will sink in.  I'm really here.

After all this time, I'M REALLY HERE.

Lady Savina is very happy. 

Only a few days now until Lady Savina and I are together.

We won't be living together at first.  Her divorce is still dragging on, and her middle daughter is coming to stay with her for a month.  Until the divorce is finalized I'm still a secret in her life, at least to her older daughters and her soon-to-be-ex.  So I will be right down the road, in a little place I'm calling The Loft -- I've always wanted a loft apartment, and this is pretty close.  That is, as close as I'm going to get in a little Iowa town with a population of 163.

Our plan is, every morning she drives right by The Loft on her way to work, and so she'll be picking me up on her way.  We'll work at the place of many ups and downs, then she'll drop me off on the way home.  I'll be a few miles away and we'll both be going nuts.  So close, so close!  And it will be this way for much of July.  If I can, I'll try to use these strange nights in this small town to work on my novel.  Who knows, maybe I'll even finish it.

I have never lived in a town so small that the entire population could fit on an airline all at once.  Small towns are famous for having no secrets. 

This is going to be interesting.

Two nights in a row drinking really strong barley wine has left me with noticeable brain damage.

Seriously, the typos are way up, and my sentence structure has gone to hell.  I'm having to rewrite everything four times.

I may have reached the point where I no longer have any spare brain cells.  It could be that it's time for me to stop consuming alcohol.  Or at least barley wine.

Do you ever go to the Wayback Machine on the The Internet Archives (Archive.org) and check out old versions of websites?

Like, Google when it was in beta?

Or Yahoo in it's infancy?

How about Xanga?  It went from a mysterious page that didn't say what it was for, to a site for building your own "home portals," to a place to build your own "affiliated store," then changed to a place where anyone could "publish online."  Funny, for an entire year Xanga had no idea what it was.  It didn't become a "weblog" until November 2000.

And here is my original Xanga, with some entries from October 2002.  I'd completely forgotten about my blinking self portrait.

People love their stuff.  My kids love their stuff.  I used to love my stuff, too.

When I split with my ex, and we had to get rid of the house, I had to get rid of most of my stuff.  Now, I'm a compulsive collector, so I had a lot of stuff, and I loved it.  But through a lot of soul searching and learning, I figured out something.

I didn't own my stuff.  My stuff owned me.

I pay for it.  I pay tax on it.  I pay for a place to keep it.  I pay to use it.  I have to make decisions based on the fact that I have all of it.  I have to worry about it when I'm not around.

My stuff rules my life.

So I began getting rid of it.  I decided I want to own as little as possible.  And what I do own, I want it to be portable.  I made some serious changes in my life and my value system so that I, once again, owned my stuff, and not the other way around.

Unfortunately my ex and my kids do not share this new and (in my own mind) enlightened world view.  Through a cruel trick of fate, I ended up with all of their stuff.  Yes, even my ex's stuff.

And it still ownes me.  Why?  Because I'm too tender hearted to get rid of it and say, "too bad, I got rid of your stuff, I was tired of being responsible for it."  However, I'm taking steps toward my freedom.  It will cost me in the short term, but I'll be totally free in the long run.

As many of you know, I'm moving up to be with my love, and unfortunately I'm taking all this stuff with me.  Well, not all, but still more than I'd like.  But my nefarious plan is, when I'm finally up there and settled, I will begin shipping the stuff to them, a bit at a time.

Of course, in only a while, my love and I will be married, and then ............... there's all her stuff. 

=========

By the way, anyone in the Dallas area need a TV, a VCR, a DVD player, a stand for all of it, or a large sturdy dining table, or a washer and drier?  How about a queen sized matress?  Or a bookshelf?  I'm going to CraigsList all of it.

I have this great physical fitness program that, every time I go through it, I lose a lot of weight, increase my stamina and bulk my muscles up to a respectable level.

It's called:  Moving.  The routine:  Constant physical exercise in the form of packing, lifting, and carrying.  It's like going through Army boot camp.

Every muscle in my body is sore right now.  But, it feels good in an odd, slightly masochistic way.  I love the feeling of power when my muscles gain back their tone.  I feel, in a way, like Dr. Banner turning into the Hulk, but minus the green complexion (though admittedly I have split a seam or two in my clothes, usually in the crotch area).  I enjoy knowing I can once again punch my way through a wall, or spitefully smash the hood of a Lexus. 

Though I would never do either of those things.  Honest.  No, really, honest.

I may be a big old furry grizzly bear, but I'm a cuddly, gentle one.

After a long and soul-searching conversation into the wee hours of the night, my love and I decided that she would not take my last name after we're married, and she will not take my name and hyphenate it after her current last name.

No, we decided it would be best if we both changed our last names to a brand new one.  Our very own last name.

And the name we chose is...

Aardvark

Jerry and Tracy Aardvark.

Nice to meet you!