I hated Florida. Anyone who knew me, knew that. Living in Gainseville and going to UF was probably the best two years of my life. The first year in Fort Myers and working at the agency was probably the worst year of my life. To prove it, ask me where my thyroid is (another long story for another day). I quit, took a 45-day "sabbatical" and finally landed my dream job (OK, my dream job really is working for St. Jude. Or the Red Sox...but this was third). I became a writer for Lee Memorial Health System, the huge hospital system in Fort Myers. I was happy again. But after a year-and-a-half, the fact that I loved my job, loved the new friends I made and the ones I had known since I moved to Florida, and kept busy with Junior League, well even those weren't enough to keep me happy enough to stay. So I started looking. My plan was to get a job in the Boston/Springfield/NYC area in June or so. That would put me at two years with the hospital - a good length of time for my resume. Fortunately and unfortunately, I found a job much sooner than I planned. I applied, got an interview (via Skype) and landed the gig. That afternoon, I walked into my boss's office and dropped the bomb - I was leaving in two weeks. Exactly two weeks later, I left work around 2 on my last day, hysterically crying. I never wanted to leave my job and my co-workers, but I couldn't take them with me! They were all so understanding and happy for me, but kept reminding me how much I'd be missed. My dad flew into town that night, and a few hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, we hit the road. About 30 hours later, I was home.
Home. It feels so natural to say that. This has always been home. I grew up in the house. I switched bedrooms when I was 4, and then when I officially moved out the week after college graduation, my brother turned my bedroom into his den. So now I'm in the guest room. It's temporary until I find my own place, but it's so nice. I'm saving money. I get my alone time but I'm never really alone. Rags is on a 24/7 playdate and my dad takes them for at least four walks a day. He also has a yard to play in. Speaking of yards...
It was cold when I first got here, but the past few days have been quiet warm for New England in March (or should it be, "March in New England"?). Apparently an hour of cardio at the gym wasn't enough for my body, so when I got home, I didn't even bother to change - I just took the dogs outside and picked up a rake. Three hours later, my thumb was killing me. Well, hello blister. I wasn't mentally done raking - there is still a lot to be done. The freak October snowstorm kind of hampered my dad's (and the rest of New England's) plans to get the yard free of leaves before winter, so it's been several months coming. It was warm a few days in December when I was here, and we got the whole side yard done then, but we have a huge yard and so now the back two-thirds needs to be done. It's a good project for me, since Dad is busy tearing down sheetrock and ceiling in our den so he can renovate. I have afternoons off from work (another long-ish story), I'm not paying rent and it's good exercise on top of the hour I spend at the Y every day, so why the heck not? Plus, it lets the dogs get some fresh air without being tied to a leash. Rags particularly enjoys sunning himself. Probably because for the last four-and-a-half years, it's been too hot for him to enjoy time outside (in Florida) except when we would go to Dunnellon.
I really like cleaning, inside or out. I guess it's because A. I hate clutter B. I hate messes C. I feel accomplished when I'm done and D. I feel like I'm being helpful/useful/productive. I have always rented for the past six years, so I've never had to do any yardwork, but I truly do enjoy it. I always liked mowing the lawn in high school. It's good exercise and then, I would get paid or at least not feel bad asking for money for the movies or dinner. And I always got a tan! Now, I'm a little more "motherly" and worried about skin cancer, but I did let myself get some sunscreen-free rays today. I jokingly tell people at work that I lied - I moved back here from Alaska, not Florida. I think they believe me.
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