I leave to go back home tomorrow. I’m not sure I want to go. I’ve gotten to the point where I am feeling comfortable in this office. I’m in a routine. (Everyone who knows me is all, “Oh. There it is.”)

I think it also has to do with the fact that I am frustrated with my life at home. Frustrated with my friends. Frustrated with my house, and the crappy, torn-up yard. And the temporary microwave that I’ve had for over two months now because the built in one broke, and my landlords are insisting that a microwave with an exhaust fan and a light is a special order item, which, have they been to Lowes? I want the top of my baker’s rack back. It’s where I put my purse. It’s where I put the mail.

I’m not sure any of that matters, really, since I can’t have a dog where I’m at. But do I really want to move again? I don’t know. (No, I do know. I don’t want to move. Well, within the area I am in now. I could be open to moving to another state.)

I think in the end, that’s why the car thing bothers me so much. I’ve been looking forward to this as a semi-new beginning, and now it is less so, because I don’t get to go out and meet new people. There are new people in the office, but (and it could be a factor of the time of year) we aren’t doing a lot of socializing. So, I’m stuck with my two teammates, who still want to talk wastewater plants when we go to dinner. It’s not the change I’d hoped for.

PS: Boston Terriers are way better than French Bulldogs.