I didn’t know that moving my stuff into storage would cause so many questions.

Oh, you and your questions!

It’s really not a big secret – here’s the deal.  My lease is up at the end of March.  I’ve loved this apartment – truly, more than any other physical space I’ve ever occupied.  But parking is atrocious.  It’s expensive.  And given my bizarre neighbors, as well as a landlord who entered my apartment last week when I was out of town, turned on the oven, and left it on for the SIX DAYS until I returned, I don’t know.  It just seemed like the right time to go.

I thought about finding another place right away, but then I remembered that April is going to be crazy.  I’m driving 5 hours away for a dentist appointment.  I’m going to Boston to see Christina.  Julie’s getting married in Kansas City.  And I’ll be in Nashville for the week before the half-marathon (which I will walk, not run – no shame).  Why pay rent for a month that involves a lot of travel?

So, I moved my stuff into storage.

Totally annoying, I know.  It means that I will have to move twice.  That is the pits.

But then, I think of the money I will save.  And because I do enjoy a small cushion of sweet, sweet cash (that, according to my track record, will probably be spent on some random emergency before I even see it), it all feels strangely worth it.

I’ll figure out the next step, the next place, the next home when I get back to Denver in May.

Now we are all on the same page.  It happens to be blank.  But at least we’re here together.  [snuggle snuggle]

I am having a hard time feeling like The Real Me right now, since The Real Me thrives on routine and nesting and eating the exact same thing for breakfast every morning.  But 2011 has offered no rest for the weary, and no predictability for your truly.

The past few months have been a rough go for The Real Me.

The Real Me likes walking 11 miles a night after work by herself.  The Real Me likes having all of her clothes hanging neatly in the closet.  The Real Me likes a balanced checkbook and a good night’s sleep.  The Real Me likes home-cooked meals.  The Real Me likes independence.  The Real Me likes quiet moments and clear skin and a big glass of water.  The Real Me likes to be home, wherever I have most recently dubbed it.

After weeks and weeks of travel, I am home today.  I am home tomorrow.

And then on Saturday, I am moving all of my stuff out of my home and into a storage unit, and becoming homeless – again.

It’s only for a season, and there are a lot of very good and valid reasons that I’m doing this.  It’s the right choice, and I have to remember that, like many of my seemingly manic decisions, I am, oddly enough, choosing it.

But The Real Me is just so damn tired, and hasn’t packed a thing, and will stay up all night tonight and tomorrow to pack my home away into boxes – boxes that I do not yet have.  The Real Me will cry and swear before it’s all over.  The Real Me will live uncomfortably, and pray that she doesn’t wither away in the midst of it all.

I made it back to Denver on Saturday night, and when I walked into my apartment, I swear, it took everything in me to not drop to my knees and kiss the hardwood floors.  For all of the trips that I take, I am a bona fide homebody.

Yesterday, it started snowing.  It was pretty and white and wintery outside, so I looked out the window for awhile.

Then, while still in my pajamas, I made my best breakfast, and drank 3 cups of coffee in quick succession.

This is too much coffee, so after that, my hands were jittery.  But I managed to plug in my new Sonicare toothbrush, which I got for Christmas.  It’s changing my life.  I’ll never go back.  NEVERRRRRR.

I looked at my new wall-hanging, a gift from my sister-in-law.  And then my heart exploded with sprinkles.

At one point, I ventured out to buy myself some yellow roses – because according to L’Oreal, I’m worth it?

I opened all of my mail (6 weeks’ worth – Merry Christmas to ME), and loved all of the holiday cards that my friends sent.  I put them on my fridge.

Then, I pulled out my food processor and made almond butter.  I added a little bit of vanilla and cinnamon to make it taste like heaven, that’s what.  I didn’t want to put it in a Tupperware, because please, ugly – so I decided that a glass butter dish would work just fine.

I acknowledge that this totally doesn’t look as appetizing as it is.

I also made chocolate chip cookies.  I didn’t get a picture.  I promise it’s not because I ate all of them – it’s just that they’re now in a plastic bag in my cabinet, and who wants to see that?

I talked on the phone for awhile.  I didn’t get a picture of that, either.  But it happened.

I examined my current physical ailments – eczema on my hands, 5 swollen toes on my left foot (do I have the Gout? I’M SERIOUS), and yellowing bruises on both of my forearms.  All are a mystery.  And again, no picture – but let’s be honest, you’re totally okay with that.

I watched a documentary called “The Art of the Steal.”

Finally, I ventured to the gym and ran 5 miles on a treadmill, which did not bode well for the 5 swollen toes on my left foot, or, incidentally, my mood.  Then, I went to Target and bought graph paper, because how much do I love graph paper?  It’s so regimented and orderly, and when I write on it I can tell myself to “read between the lines” and totally mean it.

That was yesterday, but this is today – and today, it’s 3° outside and I am feeling positively unwell.  So it’s a sick day for me – back to bed to hopefully sleep off the crud (and the Gout).

When I moved to Denver a year ago, it was on an open-ended basis – I moved to be close to my family as my mom underwent cancer treatment, but had no idea what the future would hold. I decided to live it up and soak in every bit of Colorado that I could, since I didn’t know how long I would be here. I ran hundreds of miles all over the city, and went to concerts, and climbed mountains, and got involved in a church, and made some friends, and felt grateful every single day to work for a company that made it possible for me to live close to my family during this time.

And now, it’s been a year, Mom is doing awesome (cue the confetti, for real), and nothing is “officially” holding me here in Colorado.

But I’m going to stay anyway.

I’m going to staaaaaayy exclamation point!

I’m going to dig in here, and see what Denver might have to offer me, and what I might have to offer it. I’m going to move forward into the unknown, even when it’s tempting to go back to what’s familiar and comfortable.

Because trust me, both Nashville and Seattle are tempting, wonderful, good options. I have people who love me, and people that I love, and opportunities and connections and community and a heart that bursts at the thought of any number of amazing memories. I wonder if I’m crazy to make a life for myself in yet another city, when I already have ready-made lives in other states.  In a way, it’s scary to think that I’m deciding against these wonderful places that I love so much, because, as Tom Petty says, “Well, the good ol’ days may not return / And the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn.”

But, you know – I’m learning to fly.

And I can honestly, wholeheartedly say that I love my job, I love the mountains, I love my family, and I love a good adventure. Why NOT stay?

This is a good decision.

But friends?  Please come visit me.

Nashville – #10
Denver – #9

Apparently, I’m getting prettier.

Also: woe to Memphis.

Any weekend that includes both this and this -

- is a good one.

First of all, my blog friend Anastasia came to visit.  We had never met in real life before, but that didn’t stop her from driving 600 miles from Kansas City only to have me drag her out of bed at 4am on Saturday to go climb a 14er.

What. A. Sport.  I liked her SO much!  And look at her – a prairie girl on the summit of Mt. Democrat.  She kicked that mountain in the teeth.

When we got back to the car, we had the idea to put a copy of my CD on the windshield of every car in the parking lot.  Unsolicited?  Perhaps.  Presumptuous?  Y’all.  I just wanted to spread the love.  Don’t hate me.

On Saturday night, my friend Hillary was in town, and got the Parsons clan tickets to her show.

Oh yeah, that Hillary.  The one that wins Grammys and is currently on tour with Tim McGraw (she would never brag on herself, so I’ll do it for her) – and the one who also happens to be a sweet friend from my Nash-days, and absolutely wonderful.  It was so good to hug her neck.

Thanks for the amazing seats, Hill!  We loved it!

Then, last night, a few girlfriends took me out for an early celebration of my birthday.  They gave me presents and listened to me tell the story about the time I led a revolt in the high school band.  Everyone needs friends who will listen to them tell the story about the time they led a revolt in the high school band.  I feel so lucky to be meeting such nice people here.

Recently, someone I know said something disparaging about Denver, and I found myself getting defensive.  I think that’s a good sign.  I think this place may be growing on me.

Guess who’s here?

GRETA!

Last night, we were walking around Wash Park, and looked to our right to see… a roof-top band!

They noticed us taking their picture, and yelled for us to come up.

Yes.  They yelled for us to let ourselves in through the front door, go down the hall to the staircase, climb to the attic, and then clamber out the window and up to the roof.

And thanks to my new-found Spiderman climbing skills discovered on Mt. Evans this weekend…

… well.  Needless to say, we bonded.

Yes, I played the trumpet.  No, I don’t know whose lips have been on that thing.  But how could I resist?  It was a real live HOOTENANNY.

When I first saw a copy of Jakob Dylan’s new album, “Women and Country,” I was immediately intrigued. I mean, come on – look at the cover.

Even better, check out the cover of his EP, the precursor to the full record.

Based on these two pictures, this is the coolest man alive. And this album confirms it… because holy mother of pearl, it is phenomenal. I’ve had it on repeat – it’s the soundtrack to my existence these days.

So on Friday afternoon, just before I left work, I checked his website to see if he was coming to Denver anytime soon. I pulled up the tour dates, and right there at the top of the list was my city. I couldn’t believe it – I checked the date, and… HE WAS PLAYING THAT VERY NIGHT, one mile from my house.

Serendipity? Me thinks YES.

I kicked it into gear, and ran down to the theater to buy a lone ticket. I couldn’t believe that there were still seats available with just an hour to spare, but $28 later, I was hurrying home to change and scoot back in time for the show.

Except.

Somewhere in the mile between my house and the theater, I lost the ticket. It was in my back pocket when I set off for the venue, but when I arrived at the door, it was gone. I panicked, telling the girl at the box office my situation, showing her my receipt – but no dice. No ticket, no admission.

The show was about to start, but I turned around and started to retrace my steps home. I bent down to check every scrap of paper I saw, but it was always a bus ticket, a receipt, a matchbook. My shoes started to give me blisters, so I took them off and walked barefoot in the dark. By the time I got halfway home, picking up every piece of trash I found, no sign of the ticket, shoes in hand, totally devastated – I just started to cry.

And I couldn’t stop.

In my own defense, I wasn’t just being dramatic.  The tears were the culmination of several incredibly difficult things happening in my life right now – things that are weighing around my neck heavier than a millstone. Losing my ticket put me over the edge; I was a hot mess.

So I did the only thing that I knew to do in times of distress, which was… you know, call my mom.

She encouraged me to go back and get another ticket, so I did. Except when I showed up at the box office (again – third time in two hours), I was STILL CRYING. It wasn’t that I was trying to make them feel sorry for me – I simply could not pull it together. I was sniffling and wiping black rivers of mascara from my cheeks – it was not pretty.

The manager took one look at me, and ushered me in without question.

And it was the greatest show.

Now, I’m not endorsing stuffing your emotions in until they erupt on a Denver street corner.  All I’m saying is… it might come in handy.

Wow.

Ever since last Monday’s blog, you have returned day after day, expecting to see something new posted.

But NO.  Here a crotch, there a crotch, everywhere a crotch, crotch – day after day after day.

My most sincere apologies for the assault on your eyes for an entire week.  Last Monday night brought some sudden news that took me out of town for the rest of the week – I’m sure that I’ll unpack some of that in the coming days.

In the meantime, spring has DONE SPRUNG here in Denver.  I returned on Saturday to trees in full bloom and 70 degrees of sunshiny weather.  I don’t have to wear a coat anymore, and I am sneezing like the dickens (whatever that means).  I would be tempted to get outside and do some more hiking, but I’m home just long enough to repack my bags and fly to Nashville tomorrow night for two weeks.  I have a half-marathon to run on Saturday, and will spend some time working from the Nashville office.

Let’s talk about books.  After several false starts, I am finally reading “The Poisonwood Bible.”  Any recommendations for summer reading?  You’d better believe I’ll be reading “Beatrice and Virgil” – I can’t wait.

If you haven’t read these, I suggest:
“Plainsong”
“The History of Love”
“Water for Elephants”
“Peace Like a River“

You can take the girl out of Nashville, but you can’t take the stage-side-at-the-Taylor-Swift-show-and-THIS-IS-SO-AWESOME out of the girl.

Jenn and I had tickets for the uppermost balcony last night, literally behind the stage.  But my most excellent friend Kelli (SHOUT OUT) back in Nashville pulled some strings, and all of a sudden, a man was tapping us on the shoulder and giving us wrist bands and we were… well, we were this close:

She was bedazzled, to say the least.

This week has been full of some very fun surprises – things I haven’t tried for or asked for or even imagined might happen.  It’s kind of comical, actually.  But surprise is an important element of a good story – and these days, I’m liking mine.

I mean, I wish I knew where this story was headed… but that would ruin the surprise, now, wouldn’t it?