I now have internet. Emerson and his boss Chris spent an hour or so figuring out how to make it work. I'm not sure what the problem was -- apparently it's usually abracadabra thank you there it is. But whatever was wrong, it isn't any more.
Ochi definitely approves of the windows in the new place, which have six-inch wide windowsils along their entire inside length. He can pace, he can sit, he can stare, either outward or inward, he can preen and pose. And he does.
I wonder what it will take for this place to feel like my place. Maybe getting the pictures hung. Maybe the inevitable accumulation of mess. Maybe establishing routines so everything doesn't feel like I'm making it up as I go along. A certain degree of that is enlivening, but when every little decision has to be made and feels tentative, it's like walking on sand which may become quicksand at any moment. Not deep quicksand, of course, just not good solid ground your feet don't have to think about.
Internet radio now works again. I went through a couple chat sessions with the guy on the other end telling me to "log in", and me dutifully logging in on my computer screen when what he meant was to log in on the radio itself. Not all language problems have to do with whether your English is good. Sometimes it's just that you say "potato" and I say "potahto" and we actually mean different root vegetables entirely.
Well, OK, today should be fairly straightforward. There's a Terwilliger art fair I want to go to so I can see my neighbor Betsy's photographs. I've got tickets to see a play tonight, to be preceded by dinner at a really good Italian restaurant. And in between I can arrange to get the pictures hung and make my first delivery order to Safeway to reassure myself that I can make that work. No, I can't think of any reason why it shouldn't, but everything feels so tentative and ill-defined that it makes me feel claustrophobic and/or incompetent and/or like I just made one gigantic mistake in moving here, where I will be for the rest of my life.