It seems to have taken over my life, however, and while I know this too shall pass (ha ha), I'M READY FOR IT TO PASS. Yesterday I saw my gastroenterologist, who happens to be young, handsome and hilarious — not exactly the kind of person I want to talk to about poop. He's also married with kids around Grace's age, so at least he uses words like "poop" and "turd" instead of "bowel movement" and "stool," which would be too much for me to deal with. Anyway, tomorrow I will have a colonoscopy, which means I cannot eat ANYTHING today, and a bunch of other gross stuff I won't go into. And while we're approaching this with a "better safe than sorry" attitude, a little part of my brain keeps remembering that my father had colon cancer three years ago. I hate that little part of my brain.
I also got a call from the Perfect Roommate, who has fallen in love with NW Portland and is trying to rent an apartment there. I can't blame her; in fact, I keep thinking, "Why didn't WE live there?" Then I remember it's hip, crowded, noisy, expensive and you can't park anywhere, and we were looking for a family neighborhood, something a bit more chill. I'm glad she's found a place that suits her, and we'll likely end up being friends, so it's wasn't a complete waste of time, but I haven't yet told Brady that she won't be seeing Boo again. Since I'm having second thoughts about the cohousing Ecovillage, I was kind of relieved that she wasn't rarin' to sign a lease and move in, but this puts the kibosh on two list items I thought I had settled: where I'll be living for the next six months and where I'll be living after that. What's best for Grace that I can afford? And that gets me thinking about the rest of the list — ring, job, book, etc. — and I want to curl up in bed.