SUNDAY, 17 SEPTEMBER, 2000, PHILADELPHIA

Before my jet lag from 3+ weeks in England/Scotland has completely worn off, I’m going away again. Just said farewell to a dear neighbour (not these ones). “Man,” quod he, “you live life in the fastest lane I’ve heard of. You’re fucking nuts!” I don’t know about that, but life is indeed fast by my own design, and I feel my feet growing lead. Starting a drive with Micha-Kitten to New Orleans tomorrow morning to look for a house and iron out some logistics of moving. (Micha’s just coming along for the ride.) I’m excited of course. And happy for the future. Lots of wonderful things and events and people to look forward to by moving back to the only city that ever felt like home to me. But the thought of the physical move itself — the packing and all the driving and such — is enough to put me over the edge just at the moment. Look. This is me. I am a wreck… I am posing in a decidedly languishing demeanor amidst boxes stacked to the ceiling. There is a boxspring wedged in my famous disco stairwell at the moment that cannot be moved. I am indeed, to quote my neighbour, “fucking nuts.” May I confess something? I am nervous. Wow. How weird is that. Moving is practically a full-time occupation for me. And I’m doing it the best way this time, unlike most others. I am familiar with the city to which I am moving (which is a rarity for me), I have a place to stay while looking for a house (cheers to you, Dr. K__!), I have work pretty much lined up (a first), and I have the unheard-of luxury of having the dear Gentleman Caller taking over my house in Philadelphia, which means I can leave my towers of furniture and crap here until I line up a regal château in New Orleans, fly back up, rent a truck and drive back down. For that last part, I am æternally in debt to the G.C. This is the most responsible, grown-up move I’ve made by far. I have the great honour to search for a home for both myself and the inimitable Melusine who, by mere chance, happens to be moving to N.O. from San Francisco in a few weeks. Two Suffering Is Hip editors under one roof can only mean brilliance is sure to follow. So why am I trepidatious? How many times have I done this before? Let me think… In my relatively young adult life, I have moved houses 15 times, spanning 7 or 8 cities around the western hemisphere spanning distances on each move from 1000 – 9000 miles. Always exhausting, but always envigorating as well. So why am I nervous? I dream of New Orleans. Not a day has passed in the two years that I’ve been gone that I do not think about it. “Why so nervous, little man?” Aw fuckit. FuckifIknow. Best to just get on with it. I’m sure everything will be fine in a few days when I pull into town. Speaking of a few days, till then, my lovlies. Hope my little car makes it. Wish me godspeed through the Carolinas.