South of Sunnyside

Six weeks ago I (somewhat) jokingly observed that there is a fine line between unemployment, self-employment and entrepreneurship, but that I was hoping to find success in the latter. What I hadn’t fully prepared for in such a pursuit is the time commitment.

Don’t get me wrong: I didn’t set out in the new venture wearing a blindfold, but I thought I’d be able to scale back my work week to no more than 75-80 hours (hoping at least 25%) of those would be billable. I thought that when not working on client projects I could spend time blogging, twittering, and the like. I miscalculated.

That’s not a complaint, though—in the slightest. I’m grateful for all the opportunities that have unfolded. I just miss you, my reader(s). And typing random thoughts. And reading others’.

That’s all.

Maybe it’s the change in season. Or perhaps it’s the result of reaching an academic milestone. Whatever the reason, Kim is anxious. She just hasn’t been the same since we left New Orleans.

Sure, it has its problems, but every one of the Big Easy’s flaws make it all the more beautiful.That city got to her—now Kim can’t let it go. It was all that she expected it to be; when Kim says she now wants to move there, I can tell that she’s serious.

I suppose, in some ways, that the timing’s about right. When I moved here in 2004, we talked about a five-year timeline for getting out. That would give us enough time to build a little equity in a first home, finish school, start our careers. Then, we’d try something new—maybe even move back to Denver, where we met.

As the end of that timeline approaches, it’s encouraging to realize that we’ve met all of our goals, at least those within our control. The reality, unfortunately, is that while we are blessed to have a home, it has lost almost half of its value, which would pose significant challenges were we to uproot.

But that’s besides the point, really. After planting roots and building relationships for the last five years, I’m no longer in a hurry to leave Fresno. This place has grown on me—in many ways, more than I thought a city or community ever could.

I’m not saying I’d never leave, but I’m starting to think I’d like another five years here.

In the mean time, Kim will try to temper her angst by re-piercing her nose, or changing her hair, or painting a room, but these will only buy me a little time. Maybe it’s time to start talking about having kids…

Dear telemarketers: Which of these words do you not understand?

There’s a list. I’m on it. Hiding your identity doesn’t qualify for an exemption.

Oh, and to “Douglas,” at the “Rate Reduction Center,” you left your testicles on the line—I sure hope you don’t need them.

My flight out of Fresno with Kim is delayed an hour, though we weren’t informed of this until after we boarded.

So I’m sitting here.

And I’m thinking.

And I’m wondering at what point it was decided that airplane seats should be built to fit the “average” person. Because, evidently, that person is four to six inches shorter than me, and evidently a bit…um…narrower.

Then again, maybe I’m cranky from only getting only two and a half hours of sleep. I’d take a nap if I could contort my body to fit this seat.