Oh yay! I’ve had so much on my mind. I have a draft of a blog post on why I just couldn’t get into Independence Day this year. My desire to finish it waned. Eh, I might get back to it…who knows.

I’m pretty sure I’ve decided to move back to Oregon with two years. Time is a-wastin’ and I just hate living in Florida. I hate living in Orlando. When I left Tampa for Portland in June of 1992, I never thought I’d ever want to live there again, but I have to admit that I do miss Tampa.

There’s something kind of humorously twisted about Tampa. It’s always been an unpretentious city. That part I’ve always enjoyed. People poke fun at themselves a lot, at the city, the region, the politics—all in a healthy way, either the attitude of,”we don’t have to prove ourselves to others. Love us, or leave us. Of course it also helps that Tampa Bay, in general is blue; it’s way more liberal than it was when I lived there.

But, I miss the mountains, I miss the cold damp Portland autumns, and winters. I miss sitting for hours in a cozy coffee shop writing, or researching for writing, hiking around town on an urban photo safari.

However, there are quite a few malfunctioning parts of my body that need to be repaired, and honestly, I feel like I won the doctor lottery here. Except for one, or two outstanding doctors I had in Tampa-St.Pete, all my doctors here have been stellar, and I feel real sure I want them to fix my boo boos rather than researching new doctors in Portland. Plus, when I get there I want to jump into hiking, both the urban, and nature versions.

I need to have both rotator cuffs checked out. I gave carpel tunnel in my right wrist and a bunion on my messed up right foot. I need dental work; a tooth in the left rear of my mouth needs attention. I am so grateful it’s not painful. I also need to be checked out by an ophthalmologist. I don’t have anything scary going on there, except for needing new glasses, but at 66, I think it’s wiser to go to an opera rather than an optometrist.

I so wish I could just move to a local place that’s quiet and all mine to get treated and just heal and decompress the last fucked up 19 years of my life. I want time to dirt out what I really want. I want to at least make an autumn visit to Portland and see how my allergies react.

All this self reflecting in top of my growing disgust with the politics in Floriduh and the US, and my growing intense dislike (maybe even hatred) , of the willfully ignorant and proudly stupid class of people we have here; it blows my mind over the shear size of this group, and depresses me daily that I vastly underestimated their numbers. It’s distressing learning how truly undeserving of receiving the benefit of the doubt this group of people are. Most of them are Caucasian, but not all; there’s a mixture of ethnicities and races (I really hate that word because race is a myth. Just ask a few anthropologists or geneticists), classes, and sociology-economic statuses. Stupidity can be found everywhere.

It’s now 2:19am. Looks like a good place to stop.

There’s so much to think about. I have quite a few people here that I love. I also want to not romanticize the Oregon experience, like I romanticized the Florida experience when I lived in Oregon and THOUGHT I was homesick.

This is why I want decompression time and a healthy home to do it in.