This Must Be the Place

Tuesday, June 7, 2022.
I wrote the date to anchor myself. I always feel unmoored when I move houses, a bit woozy and burdened.

I always wish I owned only what I could carry on my bike, but in Minnesota, you need at least to own clothes for temperatures from between 0 to 100, and those take up space. I could have taken my winter clothes home earlier, but I was wearing my wool sweater just last week.

I am at the cats' house. I packed most of my stuff in Maura's car yesterday, to get delivered later. Now it's 7 a.m. and I have three hours to retrieve every last sock that drifted under a couch and to do a final sweep.
I could have done it last night but I comfort-binged a TV show, Somebody Somewhere.

Oddly, though it looks entirely different, it was similar to a movie I'd seen in a theater last month, Everything Everywhere All at Once.

One is set in a Kansas corn town, one in between shifting multiverses, but both are about middle-aged women leading their worst lives and how they find their superpowers--singing, and laundry and taxes and being someone's mother.

Also, neither title has commas.

When did they start making movies about middle-aged women?
And not fake middle-aged, either:
Michelle Yeoh (Everything) is fifty-nine, and Bridget Everett (Somebody) is fifty.

Anyway, both were comforting: you may feel you've lost your life, but it's right there with you, wherever you are.
I am here, so... THIS MUST BE THE PLACE.
That could be the title of my movie.

OK, 7:54 a.m., time to pull up my socks!