Southern Goth In A Northern Town

The rumor started in May. The mill ran fast and furious for a few weeks, then quieted. Nothing more was said, nothing was done. So I ignored it.

The marching orders came today.

Der Mann’s lab is moving to Michigan. Go date is March 1st. That’s three months to find a place to live, get packed, get moved. And there’s the holidays taking up the next six weeks. Yay. So, really, we’ll have about two months to get it all together to move to Michigan.


The flat, gray land of cold and snow and people that aren’t Southern.

I really don’t know what I’m going to do. Michigan. It’s so far out of my comfort zone. I’m a Southern girl, born and raised. I’ve never lived anywhere but the South. On top of that, I’m a Goth. I don’t think my coffin-heeled platform boots are engineered for Michigan snow. And corsets aren’t that warm.

I’m terrified.

Not just of the work involved, though that’s considerable. Herself and I have lived in our place for sixteen years. That’s a lot of time, and a lot of accumulation of stuff. And our stuff is so intertwined, separating it is going to be a pain. Also, cats. I can’t separate my big white cat and her big black cat; they’re so co-dependent it’s frightening. So I’m going to leave my old guy here. Better for him, I guess. The Northern cold wouldn’t be good for his joints. But Boon has never been an only cat. I don’t think Vinny (the geriatric Jack Russell) will like Boon’s games.

Herself says I should make this blog title a category and write about the differences. She says that may make them less terrible, less frightening, less different. And that I should also write about things I like, and I know there will be things I like.

But right now, I’m contemplating the change, the ending of a lot of things I thought would never end. My hands are shaking. It’s surreal.

I never thought I’d move North. I never really thought I’d leave Atlanta.


I keep repeating it, but that doesn’t make it seem any more real.


Three months




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