to the left, to the left

Today marked a week since I returned from Spain, and that was exactly as long as I was allowing myself to wallow about being unproductive. Not only was I being unproductive but also quite passive. The responses "whatever," "I don't care," and "okay" have been uttered with alarming frequency. I have been hanging back and waiting for other people to clarify plans instead of laying any down myself.

It was fun for a bit, but today I almost blamed a cousin's dynamic schedule on my lack of clear plans over the next month. And that's when I knew that the grace period had officially expired. I don't know when the exact turning point was, because at one point I was really indulgent in this regard, but nowadays whenever I even hear myself sounding out the vaguest hint of victimhood, the gag reflex kicks in.

Truthfully, I think it's just such a turn of events, this return to the other coast, that I groan at the thought of all the logistics. Plan a trip to scout out a place to live, get all my belongings moved back out, fill out the countless annoying forms. It is nothing to whine about really, because it is just reality. These are the times when I feel most like asking myself if I have really matured at all in the last fifteen years, because I just want someone else to do all of this for me.

But that, of course, is a lie. It's just momentary, a temporary longing for a dependency that, if acquired, would turn me into a raving mad lunatic. So really I need to just stop being an idiot, and get down to business. Which I will do tomorrow, because a week was just enough post-vacation inertia.

I have also been a bit inundated with family of late. This past weekend, my cousin B visited all last-minute like and I had to drive her at bizarre hours to and from an airport located an hour away. And while I would like to complain about how I got saddled with that duty, that too would be a bit too self-indulgent because, hi, I'm the unemployed one with no current pressing engagements who is over two decades younger than the other responsible adults in the hizzy. Also, as it turns out, B is on a break with some beau, and thus I got a nice helping of angst-venting from her over the weekend. We commiserated on our family's terrible, historical inability at getting over the heart shizz.

We also baked cupcakes for my other cousin S. Actually, I baked them, while B sat at the kitchen table, remarking that it would have been way easier, duh if I had just bought frosting from a can. Don't worry, I got some manual labor out of her nonetheless, as I made her frost half the cupcakes. They were flavored with white chocolate and the frosting was chocolate buttercream. They came out alright, but it's weird how just being in a different kitchen plays a subtle impact in how everything turns out. Baking can be a little finicky that way, and in that way makes me even more heartsick for my own kitchen.

Tomorrow, I'm visiting my cousin J, who I haven't seen in three years. She has a baby. There has been a lot of baby-visiting happening, and I don't know how much more of it I have in me- my exposure to these small fries, I now realize, was rather scant in California. Last week, I had to hold a baby with a misshapen head and pretend he was precious. Then, I had to amuse three 2-year old triplets, which was actually less difficult than pretending the conehead kid was cute. I also have to write an entire post about another baby I encountered in my travels, but that is a story for tomorrow. Wow, this whole wtf cliffhanger thing comes a little too naturally to me these days.