Grad school, it turns out, is an absolute pain in the ass that I sincerely believe will be worth it.
Moving to Oregon, it turns out, was a lot of fun. Except for Montana. Which redefines "not a goddamned thing" and can basically die in a fire. Two days to get across that damn state. TWO DAYS.
The Husband is acting his little thespian ass off right now. He was in an Albie one-act last term, is at opening night of his full-length show, and is in tablereads for his next one-act inbetween rehearsals for the other show. In short, I expect him to be dead soon. But it'll be a happy death.
The rain in Oregon has been properly rainy. I've been coming up with questionable metaphors for it for weeks. We knew we were getting settled when The Husband wanted to run to the store, and I asked for a weather report.
HIM: "It's not raining too much."
ME: "Yeah, all right. Lemme find a hat."
Growing up in thunderstorm country has done me a solid because I have refused to carry an umbrella for years, and apparently only hipsters and noobs carry umbrellas here. The winter weather, overall, has been a scream. 35 degrees is about as cold as it gets. Guys, I went out in 35 degrees in a thermal, a t-shirt, a hoodie, and another hoodie, and I was all kinds of comfortable. There's no horrific wind! It's awesome!
Also, the political spectrum here definitely skews way further left than The Husband and I, but people here are pretty mellow on the whole matter. I don't spoil for a fight like I used to, so everyone's been cool.
But I do have one bone to pick: The state of Oregon is trying to stop over-prescribing antibiotics. This does not mean that they take each patient on a case-by-case basis and listen to their history and decide if medication is necessary. No, this means that The Husband goes in for his yearly, "My sinuses are trying to kill me" doctor's appointment and gets told, flat out, that they will not prescribe him antibiotics. No, it doesn't matter that he's got a history of this junk, and he's tried to fight it off before, and it has always lead to antibiotics because it is always, always bacterial grossness. Nope. The doc flat-out refused, and when The Husband requested the name of a doc who WOULD be willing to discuss it, she refused to give a name. To say we were livid is an understatement.
We'd have been slightly less livid if I'd not been hit by a car in the same week. I'm fine. It was the tiniest love tap you can get from a sedan when crossing the street (with the light, in the crosswalk, and under a goddamned streetlamp) when the driver of said sedan starts to turn, spots you, and slams on his brakes. I was in a brace and on crutches for a week, and then I was walking around with a bruised bone for awhile. The best part of the story is that it happened, I swore a lot, and then I convinced The Husband that we should keep going to the bar where we were going to meet friends because, hell, I'd earned the damned drink at that point.
Oh, and it was his birthday when we went to the ER after midnight. Because his birthday wants us dead.
So, that's my catch up. I've got to go work on homework (shock and awe) and maybe crochet a bit.